Vader's Valkyrie
by Adam Kalik
Summary: What if "Return of the Jedi" was a bit...darker? We all remember "The Empire Strikes Back," when Vader enticed Luke to join him so they could destroy the Emperor together. This is what I imagine ROTJ might have looked like if they followed through on that plot. Dedicated to my friend, Lenny, who has been inspiring me to write "Star Wars" stories since we were both little kids.
1. Chapter 1

I

To an observer in space, the planet Cotellier was virtually indistinguishable from the countless other desert worlds that dotted the Outer Rim. Its oceans had vanished eons ago, leaving behind a bone-dry surface the color of rusted iron. There were no clouds, apart from the massive dust storms that rose from the empty basins and moved wherever the wind carried them. The night side of the planet was completely dark; there were no artificial lights, or any other signs of civilization. Only one thing set Cotellier apart from its sister planets: its emerald-green moon, encircled by icy rings that brightly reflected the light of the nearby sun. In the nearby Utapau system, this moon drew mild interest from local astronomers, but they were content to gaze upon its beauty from afar. To them, there was nothing about Cotellier itself that would justify the expense of a landing.

The prevailing view of Cotellier remained unchanged for centuries, but it did eventually change. The infamous destruction of the Death Star, and the accompanying loss of life, prompted the Galactic Empire to initiate a galaxy-wide manhunt for its hated enemy, the Rebel Alliance. As part of this colossal undertaking, the Imperial Navy compiled a list of every remote planet that might host a Rebel base, and launched thousands of probe droids to survey each planet on that list. While the droid surveying Cotellier found no trace of the Rebels, it did locate valuable ore deposits in the planet's crust. This discovery was exploited by the Empire almost immediately. A manned mission was sent to Cotellier to conduct additional surveys, and within weeks, mining operations had begun. The mines dotting Cotellier's rust-colored surface churned out raw ore at a breakneck pace, and newly constructed refineries transformed the ore into Quadanium steel. This proprietary alloy was then loaded onto heavy freighters and shipped to the Sanctuary Moon of Endor, where it would be used in the construction of the Empire's most terrifying weapon yet: the second Death Star.

Normally, dozens of freighters would haul Quadanium steel to Endor with each planetary rotation. On this day, however, there had been no launches from Cotellier. For the first time in over a year, the space around Cotellier was completely empty. The apparent stillness was interrupted only when a solitary ship emerged from hyperspace, just beyond the orbit of Cotellier's moon, and made a beeline for the red planet. The ship was enormous, measuring 1,600 meters from bow to stern. Its cargo capacity was remarkable, but this was no freighter. This was the Imperial Star Destroyer _Avenger_, and even the untrained eye could see that it was built for war. It had the profile of an arrowhead, and a heavily armored hull that bristled with no less than fifty turbolaser batteries. The chalk-white hull stood out boldly against the backdrop of space, sending a message that the Empire was not afraid to be seen, and would aggressively confront any who challenged its power. This message was only reinforced as the _Avenger_ moved, creating the illusion that it was cutting through the space it occupied.

When the _Avenger_ reached low orbit, it rotated so its ventral hull faced Cotellier's surface. A _Lambda_-class shuttle emerged from the Star Destroyer's main docking bay, with its wings folded upward like an origami crane. It descended toward the daylit hemisphere of Cotellier, its wings lowering as it drifted further away from its mother ship. The shuttle was designed to accomodate more than a dozen passengers with ease, but today it carried just one: an Imperial colonel who was fidgeting with his harness and shifting nervously in his bucket seat. He was a 33-year-old man, with brown eyes and short, neatly groomed brown hair. His skin was pale, as his work hardly ever took him out into the sunlight, and at the moment, it was also unpleasantly clammy. He felt nauseous on every planetary descent, even with the mitigating effects of the shuttle's artificial gravity system. The colonel would never admit it, of course. A great number of promotional opportunities for Imperial officers disappeared if a candidate was suspected of any kind of softness or infirmity. Instead, he feigned a stern demeanor, and pressed the back of his head into his headrest as hard as he could to distract himself from the queasy feeling.

"Colonel Dyer?" the pilot called. "We've reached the thermosphere, sir. Twenty minutes to landing."

"Copy," Dyer replied, with all the command presence he could muster. To take his mind off his stomach, he mentally rehearsed the assignment Moff Jerjerrod had given him. All he had to do was deliver yet another list of scheduling changes and supply requisitions to the commander of the Cotellier mining complex, Nahdonnis Praji. After doing his best to deflect Praji's incessant questions about the delays, Dyer would oversee the transfer of the materiel Jerjerrod coveted, and return to his duties on the Sanctuary Moon of Endor. It was a relatively simple assignment—in fact, it could have been done via hologram—but security protocols required him to relay the orders in person. Considering what had happened to the first Death Star, he couldn't say he was surprised.

Dyer thought of his imminent meeting with Commander Praji, and tried to convince himself that it would go smoothly. In spite of his rank, he'd never found it easy to make demands, but Dyer remembered that Praji was a pushover, a soft target with no political clout. Praji's reputation had been irreversibly tarnished after his failure to recover the stolen plans to the first Death Star, and the subsequent internal investigation had nearly ended his career as an officer. As he thought about it, Dyer realized Praji was lucky to have been permanently reassigned to this miserable ball of dirt. Few others had failed a personal assignment from Darth Vader and lived.  
Dyer allowed himself a guilty smirk as he measured his own career against Praji's. Just as his mind wandered to the perks of climbing the next rung on the ladder, the shuttle bounced and shook, and he felt his stomach lurch. He leaned forward and craned his neck so he could see out through the cockpit window, and saw that the shuttle was passing through a massive atmospheric storm. He clutched his harness with both hands as the shuttle descended through the swirling red haze.

"Sorry about the turbulence, sir," the co-pilot called out. "Less than one minute to touchdown." Dyer grimaced and swallowed his saliva, which had suddenly turned sour. He remained determined to step off the shuttle with his last meal still in his stomach. He counted by seconds as the descent slowed, and he felt the quiet vibration of the shuttle touching down on the landing platform. _About damn time_, he thought as he unbuckled his harness. He practically leapt out of his bucket seat, and immediately put his hand against the bulkhead for support. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, and glanced into the cockpit cautiously to see if either of his crewmen had noticed his eagerness to get off the shuttle. They paid him no mind as they attended to their duties, chattering to flight control and flipping switches with the precision of new droids.

There was a sharp hiss of pressurized gas as the shuttle's boarding ramp lowered, followed by the howl of the dust storm raging outside. Dyer started down the ramp while it was still moving, ignoring the strong wind that slapped at his legs. He winced as the sensation of being slapped traveled up his chest, and felt tears in his eyes as the storm threw dust in his face. He took a half-step back to stabilize himself, and held his cap on with one hand to keep from losing it. With his free arm extended for balance, Dyer pressed forward, until he felt the sole of his boot thud on the landing platform. Finally, his equilibrium returned to him. His nausea faded away as his brain recognized the level surface.

Dyer wasted no time hurrying to the turbolift at the edge of the platform, leaning forward at the waist to resist the force of the gale. As he moved, he noticed a second _Lambda_-class shuttle docked next to the turbolift column, and briefly wondered what other officer was unlucky enough to have been dispatched here on some trivial errand. He was only able to dwell on it for a moment before he was slapped in the face with a fresh wave of dust. He would have groaned with frustration, but he could already feel the grit in his mouth and nose. He turned his attention back to the turbolift, and breathed a sigh of relief when the doors slid shut behind him. He rubbed the dirt out of his eyes with the backs of his hands, and was rewarded with a stinging sensation that brought on a fresh round of tears. He hissed with regret, and blinked rapidly to clear the irritation away. When he could see again, he looked down at his uniform. His shoulders instinctively slumped with disappointment. His once-black tunic was caked with red dust. He sighed to no one in particular as the turbolift took him down into the headquarters building.

Within seconds, the turbolift slowed to a stop and the doors slid open, revealing a metallic gray reception area, utterly devoid of artwork or any other interesting features. Dyer stepped out of the turbolift, and saw a protocol droid at the far end of the room, standing quietly behind a plain gray reception desk. Behind the desk was a set of blast doors that led directly to Commander Praji's office. Dyer strode across the lobby confidently, ignoring the droid behind the desk. The droid registered the rank insignia on his chest, and made no attempt at conversation.

The colonel smirked as he realized why this routine seemed so familiar to him. This room looked almost identical to his workstation back on the Sanctuary Moon, which also happened to look like every other room designed by the Empire: plain, industrial, and boring. The only thing that set this particular room apart was a thick transparisteel window along the wall to his right, which offered a view of the mining operation below. As Dyer walked past the window, he looked out, and noticed the storm appeared to be dying down. As the dust settled, the sky grew brighter, and Dyer could see the true nature of the Empire's work stretching across the valley below. Rows and rows of prisoner barracks covered the level ground, arranged in neat lines. Beyond the window, a pair of turbolaser turrets methodically rotated back and forth, sweeping the entire camp. The Empire held the power of life and death over these prisoners, and every aspect of this camp was designed to remind them of it. A few stormtroopers patrolled the ground between the turrets and the barracks, but there were no walls around the outer perimeter. As far as the Empire was concerned, the command tower was the only thing worth securing. If a prisoner ran in any other direction, he would succumb to the inhospitable conditions of the planet itself. Dyer's eyes were drawn to the center of the valley, where a massive pit had been bored deep into the earth like a sinkhole. Its outer edge was threaded by a great clockwise spiral path, along which Dyer could see swarms of vehicles and tiny humanoid figures rushing down into the mine and back up again. He studied them only for a moment, without even a modicum of pity. As far as he was concerned, they had brought a well-deserved fate upon themselves.

Dyer scoffed quietly at the tiny figures toiling outside, and continued on to Commander Praji's office. He stopped in front of the blast doors and looked down at his uniform again. He wished he could have looked presentable, but he knew it was too late to do anything about the dust now. _Let's just get this over with_, he thought as the doors slid open. The first thing he saw was Praji, standing behind a plain metal desk on the opposite side of the room. _Already standing_, Dyer noticed. _I'm impressed_. Praji gave him a look full of disdain, and Dyer returned the favor, lifting his chin and looking down his nose as he stepped into the office. With that one step, Dyer gained a full view of the office. His eyes flitted over to a shadowy figure in the far corner of the room. The figure rose almost all the way to the ceiling, drawing Dyer's gaze upward. He froze, his eyes locked onto the gleaming black helmet and mask staring back at him. Dyer's heart leapt into his throat as he suddenly realized who the second shuttle on the platform belonged to. He was standing face-to-face with Darth Vader.

Dyer's mouth hung open, but he found himself unable to speak. There was no way he could form a coherent sentence, anyway; his inner voice had been reduced to white noise. He remained completely still, like a prey animal catching the scent of a predator. The sound of the blast doors sliding shut behind him reminded him that time was still passing, in spite of his desperate wish for it to stop. The next sound he heard was one of Vader's deep, mechanical breaths. Dyer quickly averted his eyes, choosing to look at Praji instead. Praji remained standing behind his desk, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He took a moment to relish Dyer's fear, then gestured politely with one hand as he looked up at Vader.

"Lord Vader, this is Colonel Dyer," Praji began. "He has personally relayed Moff Jerjerrod's orders to us for the past two weeks. I'm sure he would be happy to explain our new itinerary, and the decision to transfer most of our heavy equipment to the Sanctuary Moon."

Apart from Vader's mechanical breathing, the room was completely silent. The hairs on the back of Dyer's neck stood on end as he realized he'd been set up. He knew Jerjerrod would use him as a scapegoat someday, but he assumed when that day came, he would be able to do the same to Praji. Now, it seemed Praji was no pushover after all.

"Well, Colonel," Vader's deep voice rumbled, "How long did you think these delays would escape the Emperor's notice?"

Dyer felt an uncomfortable prickling between his legs as his manhood withered. He knew he was trapped; there was nothing he could say in his own defense. Thankfully, Praji chose that exact moment to puff out his chest and lick his master's boots.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Praji interjected. "I assumed Moff Jerjerrod had informed you in advance of the adjustments he made."

Vader was not amused by the duplicity in Praji's voice. "You've done enough already, Commander. Do _not_ attempt to curry favor with me," he warned, pointing his finger across the desk for emphasis. Praji's tattletale grin disappeared, and he turned back to Dyer with a scowl. Vader swept across the office with two great strides, leaning forward until his mask was all Dyer could see. Dyer heard his heart pounding in his ears, and gulped nervously. His simple assignment was turning into a death sentence.

"Colonel," Vader growled, his words resonating in Dyer's bones. "I will give you one chance to explain your commander's malfeasance. Know that if you lie to me, the consequences will be severe."

Dyer struggled to think of something worthwhile to say, but his mind was racing. All he wanted to do was run away, far away, and never return. He wanted to scream, and beg Vader for mercy, and kill Praji and Jerjerrod all at the same time for putting him in this position, but he was powerless to do anything. His silence lingered for a moment too long. Vader stood up straight and placed his hands on his hips, and Dyer knew his time was up. He desperately blurted out the first thing that came to mind: the truth.

"Lord Vader, ou—our original itinerary required us to prioritize the completion of the primary weapon system above all else," he stammered. Still unable to think for himself, he parroted one of Moff Jerjerrod's most frequent complaints. "The Emperor demands that the station be fully armed and operational, while there are gaps in the superstructure large enough for a spice freighter to maneuver! Delays were inevitable, my Lord. We need more time."

Dyer closed his eyes, immediately regretting what he had just said, but it was too late to take it back. This was not going as he had planned at all. Vader remained exactly where he stood, distinguishable from a statue only by his mechanical breathing. Dyer felt as though his knees might give out at any moment. He clenched his fists to keep his hands from trembling, and swore to himself that he would not faint. _This is it_, he thought, _I'm a dead man. Vader is going to clench his fist, call on that ancient magic of his, and suffocate me to death_. Finally, Vader broke the silence once more, prompting the startled colonel to open his eyes.

"Commander Praji," Vader bellowed, turning and pointing directly at Praji's chest. "You have one day to correct the deficiencies of this camp. Fail, and you will be placed among the general population. I have no doubt they admire you enough to keep you alive as long as possible."

"Yes, my Lord," Praji replied flatly. His thoughts turned to the blaster pistol concealed in his desk. He silently vowed to turn it on himself before he would allow the prisoners to take him.

"As for you," Vader continued, turning back to Dyer, "You will remain here to assist the commander, and you will share his punishment if he fails. I will return to Moff Jerjerrod in your place, to inspect his progress for myself." Vader leaned in close again before continuing. "If he is notified of my approach before I reach the Endor system, I will hold you personally responsible."

"Thank you, my Lord!" Dyer gasped. He was not a religious man, but he silently offered thanks to the Maker all the same, for allowing him to survive what so many others had not. Vader stepped forward without saying another word, and Dyer frantically sidestepped to avoid standing in his path. The blast doors slid open, and Vader marched out, his black cape flowing behind him. Dyer stepped back even further, too superstitious to let even the hem of that cape touch him. When the doors slid closed again, Dyer fell back against the wall, breathing a heavy sigh of relief and blinking tears out of his eyes. He saw the sour look on Praji's face, but he was too relieved to care. As much as he hated the man, he had to admit they now had something in common. Both of them had crossed Darth Vader, and lived.


	2. Chapter 2

II

As soon as he left Commander Praji's office, Vader found himself in a rare state of calm. In the not-too-distant past, he would have used the Force to seize both Dyer and Praji by the throat, and let them expire on the deck. Today, however, he felt his days of killing on a whim were over. While he would not hesitate to bring the full power of the Force to bear against any who challenged him, he felt there was only one left who truly deserved to die at his hands.

Vader wasted no time boarding his shuttle, leaving Colonel Dyer's flight crew awestruck as he passed. Vader's pilot had his shuttle in the air in a matter of seconds, and they quickly made their ascent through Cotellier's atmosphere and toward the Star Destroyer _Avenger_. Except for the Dark Lord's mechanical breathing, the cabin was silent as the shuttle rose. His team had been handpicked for their combat experience and calm under fire, and they knew not to engage their master in conversation.

As soon Vader's shuttle reached the _Avenger_, he stepped out, crossed the docking bay, and strode directly to his private quarters—required on every command ship by Imperial Navy regulations. Every crewman he passed went to great lengths to avert their eyes, and suddenly quickened their pace as though they had just remembered an urgent task they had to complete somewhere else. He was pleased to see that his reputation was still intact, in spite of his occasional act of leniency.

When Vader reached his quarters, he only had to devote the slightest effort to reach out with the Force and confirm what he had expected all along. The room had not been touched since the last time he was aboard the _Avenger_, except to be serviced by cleaning droids. There were still a few naïve officers who privately scoffed at his "sorcerer's ways," but even they would not be foolish enough to enter the room without his permission. In truth, it didn't make much difference. The one item that concerned him—the weapon that would be crucial to his success in the days ahead—was safely hidden aboard his personal flagship, the Super Star Destroyer _Executor_.

Vader stepped into his quarters, and marched across the room as the blast doors hissed closed behind him. A wide hexagonal screen on the far wall flickered to life, displaying the image of the _Avenger's _captain—an older, white-haired man who had served as first officer under the late Captain Needa. Vader had never bothered to learn his name.

"Lord Vader, I was just notified of your arrival. Of course, it is an honor to have you aboard," the captain began. "Shall we return to the Endor system, as planned?"

"Immediately," Vader confirmed, "And you will tell no one I am aboard until we reach the system."

"Yes, my Lord," the captain replied, and the screen went dark.

Confident that there would be no further interruptions, Vader turned his attention to the center of the room. There, upon a raised platform over four meters wide, was his custom-built hyperbaric chamber. It was sealed shut, as it had been since the last time he used it, but it registered his presence as he stepped toward the platform. It automatically separated into two hemispheres, fluorescent white light spilling out from within as the top hemisphere retracted toward the ceiling. The edges of the chamber were ringed by sharp, angular protrusions, like the teeth of a giant saw. Vader stepped through the wide gap between them, and sat upright on his saddle chair in the center of the chamber. He toggled the control panel at his fingertips, and a set of intricate robotic arms unfolded from the interior walls around him. They unclasped the chain around his neck and gently lifted his cape away, securing it in a compartment at his feet. He relaxed what was left of his true body as the robotic arms rotated back toward him, examining his artificial limbs and life support systems. The machines deadened his artificial nerves in one area at a time, so his body could be maintained without causing him the sensation of pain. He waited patiently for the fluid reservoirs in his torso to be emptied and refilled, his blood dialyzed, and his mechanical joints recalibrated. When this routine was complete, he felt the approximation of life in his nerve endings again. He tapped at the control panel again, and the top hemisphere of the chamber descended from the ceiling and closed around him, forming an airtight seal. The fluorescent white lights switched off, and a set of dim, red lights turned on in their place, bathing the interior of the pod with a blood-red glow. Once the light was adjusted to accomodate his eyes, the machines gently gripped his helmet and lifted it away.

Vader blinked several times as he felt the cold, dry air against the surface of his eyes. Fortunately, in spite of his injuries, he could still produce tears, which reduced the irritation. He opened his mouth and attempted a short, shallow breath, and his artificial diaphragm matched his effort, responding perfectly to his nerve signals to allow him a modicum of control over his breathing. He began breathing as if on his own, focusing on the anger that welled up inside him as he recognized his "control" was only an illusion. He knew he could not breathe at all without the machines that surrounded him, and he had long since abandoned any hope of being free of them.

As Vader thought of freedom, his mind wandered to the same dark places it always did. For decades, he had craved the exonerating power of death, and as he had done countless times before, he wondered how he could ever die on his own terms. He wondered if it was truly his destiny to die quietly, just slipping away someday as what remained of his body inevitably gave out. This thought had occurred to him before, and as always, he felt the same burning hatred for himself and what he had become. He hated the idea of being remembered as a crippled cyborg with a mask instead of a face. He refused to accept that as his fate. But regardless of how he died, he knew his legacy would be one of death, a mountain of corpses and agony and suffering. It was far too late to change that. _If that is to be_, Vader thought, _I will dictate the terms of my own end_. He was determined to crown that mountain with one last carcass—the one man left in the galaxy who deserved to be slain more than any other. His blood boiled as he channeled all of his seething hatred toward the decrepit husk of a man he called "master."

In his mind's eye, Vader saw the face of Emperor Palpatine: wrinkled, pale skin stretched over knobby flesh, a pair of cold, yellow eyes, a bitter scowl transformed into a grin by the misery of others. It was a face that had haunted Vader ever since it bound him in his life-sustaining mask and armor. He thought of his previous life, a time when he had admired Palpatine, and his desire to do violence grew even stronger. He found himself breathing heavily, and he felt his mechanical body supplying him with adrenaline, as it always did when it detected his primal urge to fight. He recognized the change, and deliberately slowed his breathing, forcing himself to return to his previous, calm state. He knew his plan to destroy his master could not succeed unless he kept his mind clear. The Emperor would kill him without a shred of remorse if he allowed his hatred to surface at the wrong time. Therefore, he suppressed it, burying it deep within his mind as he had conditioned himself to do long ago.

Once he was sufficiently relaxed, Vader reflected on his plan to destroy the Emperor, a plan that had been taking shape in his mind over the course of the past year. He had dismissed many earlier ideas with silent frustration, as he knew he would fail if he ever attempted to usurp the throne by himself. But one year ago, Vader had an encounter that changed his life—an encounter that showed him he would not have to act alone. On that fateful day, he had experienced his last true test of swordsmanship, at the Tibanna refinery colloquially known as "Cloud City." There, he had faced the one soul powerful enough to help him destroy Emperor Palpatine: his son, Luke Skywalker.

Vader knew all too well how strongly the Force flowed through his son. He had felt it as soon as their duel began. Where he had expected an easy victory, he found tenacity, skill, and a pleasantly surprising amount of aggression. Vader knew if he could expose Luke to the true nature of the Force, they could use their combined strength to eliminate Emperor Palpatine and reshape the galaxy forever. The only thing left to do—the only thing left in his life that truly mattered—was to convince his son to join him. Then, with the Emperor gone, they could bring order to a galaxy fractured by war.

Vader smiled in the dim, red light, assuring himself that with his son by his side, his plan would succeed. With the knowledge that Emperor Palpatine was dead, Vader knew that he, too, could finally be content. As he relaxed himself with the dream of dying at peace, a dream he had once nearly given up, he allowed the power of the dark side of the Force to wash over him. He felt it numb his mind like a drug, and used it to broadcast his voice across the galaxy, calling out with a voice only his son could hear.

"_Luke..._" he called. "_Luke..._"


	3. Chapter 3

III

The desert world of Tatooine was well-known for its scorching hot days and frigid nights. Over the years, the locals had learned to build houses with thick clay walls, digging deep into the earth wherever possible, to insulate themselves from both extremes. One such house sat on the edge of the Jundland Wastes, reliably shielding its sole occupant from the chill of night. This house had once belonged to an eccentric old man, known to the locals as Ben Kenobi. Now, it belonged to his former student, an aspiring Jedi Knight named Luke Skywalker.

As the sky began to brighten with the approach of dawn, the anguished cry of a womp rat pierced the air. Somewhere, a lucky predator had secured an early breakfast. Inside the clay hut, Luke startled awake, not because of the faint shriek from outside, but because he felt a disturbance in the Force. Something was not right. Luke shuddered as he realized the source of his uneasiness. Deep in his subconscious mind, he felt the voice of Darth Vader calling to him. "_Luke..._" the voice rumbled. "_Luke..._"

Luke cast his roughspun blanket aside and sat upright. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, recalling the meditation techniques Master Yoda had taught him. As he emptied his mind and welcomed the harmonious presence of the light side of the Force, he noticed Vader's voice gradually becoming more faint. After several minutes, Luke allowed himself to open his eyes and relax. The voice was gone...for now.

Luke swung his feet out over the edge of his bed and stood. The inlaid stone floor was refreshingly cool, and he relaxed more with each step as he crossed the room to Obi-Wan Kenobi's old footlocker. Luke opened the footlocker and removed the holoprojector unit that he had used as a reference for the past year. _Might as well finish it now_, Luke thought. Even though his mind was relaxed, he knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep. Besides, the sooner he completed this rite of passage, the sooner he could truly call himself a Jedi.

Luke toggled a tiny switch on the side of the holoprojector, and a bright blue cone of light flickered before his eyes. The light quickly came into focus, displaying a static three-dimensional image. The image was one that the Empire had scrubbed from every known databank in the galaxy: a detailed schematic of a lightsaber. Luke toggled the holoprojector again, reviewing the still images Obi-Wan had left behind for him. He paused when he reached the image he needed, that of an exploded view of the lightsaber crystal housing. Luke set the holoprojector on an end table and reached into the footlocker again. This time, he withdrew his own work in progress, a nearly completed lightsaber. It was almost identical to the one Obi-Wan had carried until the day he died, but there was one crucial step that required Luke's full concentration.

Luke knew what he was about to do required the utmost focus and patience. He did as Yoda had instructed, and silenced all conscious thought. As he tapped into the Force, he felt a sense of peace wash over him. He focused his mind on a tiny carved box nestled inside the footlocker, and used the Force to open the lid. Inside was a small, green crystal, perfectly shaped to fit inside the hilt of a lightsaber. He knew from Obi-Wan's instructions that he could not touch it, as it had to be put in place with the Force alone. He lifted the crystal into the air using the Force, moving it with his mind until it hovered directly in front of him.

Luke turned his palms toward the ceiling, channeling the Force with the gesture. Luke's incomplete lightsaber hilt rose into the air, becoming perfectly still as it reached the exact level of the crystal. Luke watched as the lightsaber hilt closed around the crystal, and sighed with satisfaction as the components sealed themselves together. Only when he sensed the power of the crystal emanating through the entire hilt did he dare to extend his hand and pluck the finished lightsaber out of the air. _Here goes nothing_, Luke thought as he thumbed the ignition switch.

A brilliant green blade crackled to life, casting an eerie glow over the clay walls of the house. Luke smiled as his eyes adjusted to the light. He felt conscious thought return to his mind as pride washed over him. He had just completed one of the most hallowed Jedi rituals, and at last he felt ready to walk in the footsteps of his old master.

Luke switched his lightsaber off and stepped outside. He looked out over the horizon, cherishing the last bit of fresh night air as Tatooine's twin suns began peeking over the mountains. He recalled the last time he had stood and admired those suns. It felt like a lifetime ago, before he joined the Rebellion. Before Imperial stormtroopers had slain his Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. The Empire had been searching for two seemingly insignificant droids: a skittish, gold-colored protocol droid named C-3PO, and a stubborn, blue astromech droid named R2-D2. Luke felt a bitter combination of anger and sorrow as he remembered speeding back to the homestead that day, knowing in the back of his mind that it was already too late. Innocent lives had been destroyed, bodies burned, all for two droids. Luke flushed the anger out of his mind, and replaced it with the hope of future victories. If everything went according to plan, those same two droids would now be instrumental to the rescue of one of the most valuable leaders of the Rebel Alliance. _If_, Luke thought, as he tore himself away from the horizon and stepped back into the house.

"Artoo?" he called. "Threepio?"

At the sound of his voice, the droids awakened from their powered-down state. R2-D2's display lights flickered on, and the droid's dome-shaped head spun towards Luke, beeping in the affirmative. C-3PO shuffled out of the kitchen area, his photoreceptors glowing with a soft yellow light.

"Yes, Master Luke?" C-3PO asked.

"It's time to go," Luke replied. He looked down at the lightsaber he was still clutching in his hand, and clipped it to his belt. He donned his cloak, a simple garment designed to breathe in the harsh desert climate, and prepared to step back outside.

"Master Luke?" called C-3PO, waving his hand as if he did not already have Luke's attention. "Shall I prepare some breakfast before we leave?"

Upon hearing this, R2-D2 emitted a short buzzing noise, in much the same way a person would snort or chuckle, and Luke smirked as he wondered how much the droids would banter during their journey.

"Not today," Luke answered. "Let's head out before it gets too hot."

The journey was relatively quiet for the trio, since there was little to talk about as they trudged across the desert. Luke stayed alert, reaching out with the Force so he could sense danger from afar. The only presence he felt was a Jawa sandcrawler, but he sensed that it was too far away to detect him or the droids, and the Jawas aboard were preoccupied with thoughts of rehydrating at the distant Pika Oasis. He continued on, certain that they would not need to change course for such a minimal threat.

Tatooine's suns were high overhead by the time Luke and the droids caught sight of the tallest spire of Jabba the Hutt's palace, just beyond the foothills of the Great Mesra Plateau. Luke was relieved that they had not crossed paths with any Jawa scavengers, or worse, Sand People. He stopped, confident that the droids would not need him to escort them any further.

"This is as far as I'm going today," Luke declared. "You two go on ahead. Just remember what I told you."

"Of course, Master Luke," C-3PO responded faithfully. He turned to his astromech counterpart. "Remember, Artoo, we are to play Master Luke's message to none other than Jabba himself."

R2-D2 replied with a series of noises that was unmistakeably sarcastic. C-3PO shuffled onward, and R2-D2 started rolling after him.

"Artoo?" Luke called.

The little droid stopped, and rotated his domed head to face Luke. R2-D2 chirped inquisitively. Luke reached into his cloak and drew his lightsaber from his belt. Holding it out and speaking in a low voice so C-3PO would not overhear, he said, "I need you to hide this until I get there."


	4. Chapter 4

IV

The sprawling citadel known as Jabba's palace had stood for over 700 years, enduring Tatooine's extreme temperatures, brutal sandstorms, and sporadic potshots from the indigenous Sand People. It had originally been built by the ancient B'omarr Order to serve as a monastery, and they inhabited it for many years, happily cut off from the distractions and temptations of the outside world. The thick stone walls and durasteel gates had insulated the monks, suffering minimal erosion in the process. Although it was centuries old, the complex was built with ruin value in mind, and could still withstand a lengthy siege. It was this quality, more than any other, that had attracted the attention of Jabba the Hutt and his cartel.

When Jabba moved in, he converted several levels of the monastery into a clandestine laboratory, where he could manufacture enormous quantities of the most addictive synthetic drugs in the galaxy. The few monks that remained by this time were powerless to resist the heavily armed men Jabba brought with him. They retreated to the most isolated subterranean levels of the palace, where Jabba had not bothered to pursue them. There, they went to the most extreme lengths to continue their never-ending quest for enlightenment. They removed their own brains from their bodies, suspending them in a nutrient-rich fluid bath that preserved their consciousness. The disembodied brains were then mounted to customized BT-16 perimeter droids, which resembled nothing so much as giant mechanical spiders. These spider-like bodies allowed them freedom of movement, and the approximation of their former senses, but could be converted into mobile meditation platforms at will. With nothing more than a thought, the brains of the B'omarr monks could order the spider droids to retreat to the shadows, cut off their sensory input, and guard them with a built-in repeating blaster cannon until they requested otherwise. To the monks, this was bliss. To Jabba, it was merely bizarre. Luckily for the monks, as long as they did not attract the ire of the ruthless Hutt, they were left undisturbed, free to wander the halls of the monastery he had taken from them.

On this day, one of the B'omarr monks had located a perfect place to conceal himself: a shadowy alcove near the main entrance gate. This monk had once carried the name of Brother Beidlo, but several years had passed since he had abandoned that name, along with the rest of his natural body. Now, all that remained of him was suspended in a transparent, spherical jar, mounted to the underbelly of a six-legged perimeter droid. As he directed the droid's movements, an oily brown fluid sloshed back and forth inside the sphere, seeping into the exposed folds of his brain. The murky liquid was filtered and chemically treated by his droid body, extending his lifespan far beyond the capabilities of any biological circulatory system. Now, he had all the time in the world to think, meditate, and experiment.

The mind of Brother Beidlo functioned in much the same way as any of the other B'omarr monks. It was true that it had been cut off from everything that could cause the sensation of pleasure, but some part of the brain still craved it. The B'omarr Order had solved this vexing problem by accident. They had discovered that removing the brains of others, and storing them with the consciousness still intact, gave them a thrill unmatched by any other experience. Once all of the monks had been so converted, they had only one remaining option. In order to continue their gruesome experiments, they would have to forcibly convert any visitors who would not be missed. Thus, the dark alcove near the entrance was not just a place for Brother Beidlo to meditate. It was also a hunting ground.

The spider droid carrying Beidlo's brain had only been sitting idle for a few minutes when it detected the rumbling of heavy machinery from the entrance gate. The poorly maintained components squealed loudly as they moved, and a thin bar of brilliant sunlight appeared at ground level. The bar of light grew taller and taller, and Beidlo's sensors passively began scanning for intelligent life as the light seeped into the hall. Beidlo's photoreceptors picked up something rolling smoothly through the gate and down the hallway, but when he focused on it, it appeared to be nothing more than an astromech droid. Beidlo ignored it, knowing perfectly well that it had no organic brain. Then, Beidlo's curiosity was piqued by a shrill, high-pitched voice echoing through the hall.

"Artoo! Wait!" the voice called. Beidlo unfolded his six mechanical legs, eager to investigate the voice more closely. He saw a humanoid form pass through the gate, taking short, choppy steps as it struggled to keep up with the rolling astromech droid. Beidlo felt a rush of satisfaction as he studied the humanoid's movements. Perhaps there was something wrong with its knees. That would make it even more difficult for the subject to resist the conversion process.

"Oh, dear," the voice continued. "Artoo! Artoo, I really don't think we should rush into all this!"

Beidlo drew closer, and was crushed by disappointment. The humanoid wasn't a living organism, either—it was just a protocol droid. Beidlo shuffled along without changing his pace, deciding it would be just as well to wait for more arrivals on the other side of the open gate. As he continued his approach, the protocol droid noticed him.

"Oh, Artoo!" C-3PO called out, mortified. "Artoo, wait for me!"

R2-D2 rotated his dome-shaped head to respond to the cowardly protocol droid, but continued to roll forward without slowing. With his sensors turned away from his path, the droid inadvertently bumped into one of Jabba's Gamorrean guards. The green-skinned, porcine alien snarled and bent forward to bare its tusks at the tiny astromech. R2-D2 quickly reversed himself and beeped a short apology. The Gamorrean growled menacingly, drool running down its wide lips as it challenged the droid.

"Just you deliver Master Luke's message and get us out of here!" C-3PO cried as he finally caught up to R2-D2. By then, another Gamorrean guard had responded to the commotion and approached from behind, cutting off the droids' retreat.

"Oh, my!" C-3PO exclaimed, unable to calculate a safe path away from both guards. Then, from behind him came the most frightening sound of all: the palace gate slammed shut, leaving them all in darkness. There was no turning back now. "Oh, no," C-3PO murmured. Before he could decide what to do, a gruff voice called out from a nearby descending staircase. C-3PO turned to look, and saw a pale-skinned, red-eyed Twi'lek gliding toward him. The Twi'lek was none other than Jabba the Hutt's majordomo, Bib Fortuna—and no one was admitted to Jabba's presence without his explicit authorization. C-3PO bowed and greeted the Twi'lek in Huttese.

"We—we bring a message to your master, Jabba the Hutt," C-3PO explained. R2-D2 whistled a short clarification. "And a gift," C-3PO translated. He stopped suddenly, realizing what R2-D2 had told him. "Gift? What gift?" he asked. But by then, it was too late. Bib Fortuna had already turned his attention to the astromech droid, demanding to accept both the message and gift personally. R2-D2 rotated his domed head from side to side to indicate refusal.

"He says that our instructions are to give it only to Jabba himself," C-3PO translated. Bib Fortuna recoiled, and his red eyes widened as he glared at both droids. The majordomo was not used to having visitors dictate terms to him, and he was visibly displeased. "I'm terribly sorry," C-3PO explained. "I'm afraid he's ever so stubborn about these sort of things."

Bib Fortuna barked angrily, and beckoned the droids to follow him.

"Artoo," C-3PO murmured, "I have a bad feeling about this."

The droids followed Bib down the staircase to a musty, humid basement level. They soon found themselves in a huge, dank audience chamber, with barely enough light to see the floor at their feet. The droids' sensors registered a wide variety of foul odors, ranging from food in various stages of freshness, to the odor of smoke and other inhalants, to trace amounts of excrement on the floor. At the far end of the room, upon a raised dais, sat Jabba the Hutt. Like the rest of his hedonistic species, Jabba was a morbidly obese, slug-like creature whose body had moved very little since reaching adulthood. He was also greedy by nature, possessing an endless appetite for both food and wealth, and he took particular joy from watching the pain of others. As the droids entered, they were lucky enough to find him in a relatively subdued state, his eyelids drooping as a Jawa waved cool air over him with a palm frond. Jabba held a long, thin smoking pipe to the corner of his drool-caked mouth, and studied the droids carefully as they approached him.

"Good morning," C-3PO said, as Bib whispered to Jabba in his native language. Jabba grumbled and leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he examined the droids.

"The message, Artoo, the message," C-3PO hissed.

R2-D2 focused his holoprojector lens in front of the dais, where Jabba could clearly see it, and played the pre-recorded hologram exactly as Luke had instructed. The life-size projection of Luke Skywalker, dressed in black knee-high boots and a form-fitting black tunic, caught the attention of everyone in the audience chamber—as did the lightsaber which was clearly visible on the right side of his belt.

"Greetings, Exalted One," Luke began. Jabba's pupils dilated as he noticed the stranger's Jedi weapon. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight and friend to Captain Solo. I know that you are powerful, mighty Jabba, and that your anger with Solo must be equally powerful. I seek an audience with Your Greatness to bargain for Solo's life."

Jabba erupted with laughter, a sickening noise that sounded almost like a cough. R2-D2 continued playing the message, as Luke had anticipated Jabba's reaction and taken it upon himself to pause briefly while recording it.

"With your wisdom," Luke continued, "I'm sure that we can work out an arrangement which would be mutually beneficial, and enable us to avoid any unpleasant confrontation."

At this, Oola, a green-skinned Twi'lek slave girl sitting to Jabba's right, glanced nervously at her master. Her chains clinked lightly as she turned her head, an expression of fear etched upon her face. She knew the short breadth of Jabba's temper, and this mysterious announcer was treading dangerously, even if he was a Jedi.

"As a token of my goodwill," Luke went on, "I present to you a gift: these two droids." "What did he say?" C-3PO asked incredulously, as Luke's hologram gestured toward both droids with his hand. The intent was unmistakeable, but C-3PO couldn't believe what he was hearing. This time, Luke did not pause.

"Both are hard-working, and will serve you well."

With that, the message ended, and Luke's hologram disappeared.

"This can't be!" C-3PO exclaimed. "Artoo, you're playing the wrong message."

Salacious Crumb, a pet Kowakian lizard-monkey which sat at the base of Jabba's massive stomach, cackled with glee. Bib Fortuna leaned over and hissed in Jabba's ear.

"He's no Jedi," Bib said dismissively. Jabba seemed to agree with his servant.

"There will be no bargain," he declared, his deep voice rumbling over the sound of gurgling mucus in the back of his throat.

"We're doomed," C-3PO said quickly.

"I will not give up my favorite decoration," Jabba added, lifting his arm and pointing across the room. Mounds of fat quivered under Jabba's oily skin as he extended his elbow. "I like Captain Solo where he is."

C-3PO turned to look, as did many of Jabba's entourage. Hanging from a wall on the far side of the audience chamber was a thick, gray slab of carbonite, illuminated from above by a bright spotlight. Embedded in the carbonite was Han Solo, a hero of the Rebellion, suspended in perfect hibernation by a Sith Lord who did not care if he survived the freezing process.

"Artoo, look!" C-3PO cried. "Captain Solo! And he's still frozen in carbonite!"

R2-D2 whistled as Jabba and his retinue continued laughing. Salacious Crumb giggled louder than ever, roiling in ecstasy at the droids' plight. Jabba signaled his Gamorrean guards, and they immediately stepped forward and took the droids to be fitted with restraining bolts and given new assignments.

Once his new droids had been removed from his sight, Jabba contemplated the message he had just seen. He knew he had heard the name Luke Skywalker before, but could not place it at the moment. Perhaps he had consumed too many Klatooine paddy frogs that morning. Over the years, he had built up a tolerance to the hallucinogens the frogs secreted through their skins, and he now consumed dozens of them each day to achieve the same feeling of pleasure he had become accustomed to. How many had he eaten that morning? _No matter,_ he thought.

In his relaxed state, Jabba cared little for what some self-proclaimed Jedi had to say. Even so, he had been a cartel boss long enough to know the value of leverage. He knew Skywalker wanted Solo, and reminded himself to guard the frozen slab even more closely to prevent some opportunistic traitor from walking off with it in the dead of night. Loyalty was in short supply these days, and with the Empire cracking down on so many of the traditional smuggling routes, he wouldn't be surprised if Skywalker's message had given one of his lackeys an idea. Even now, he could hear lowered voices chattering in the shadows of his audience chamber. Luke's message had changed the mood, all right. The only one who appeared to be unmoved was Boba Fett, who stood silently in an alcove, scanning the room for threats. Jabba considered using Fett to conduct reconaissance on this Luke Skywalker—where he came from, if he had any family—anything that a gangster could use to his advantage. Authorizing a hit on the man himself might be risky, especially since he was skilled enough to get his hands on a lightsaber, but if he had family, a far more graphic and effective message could be sent. _All in good time,_ Jabba thought. If this Jedi pretender showed his face and disrespected Jabba further, he was going to get more than he bargained for.

Jabba found that dwelling on Luke's message was starting to interfere with the serene feeling brought on by the cocktail of drugs coursing through his hardened veins. He lounged on his dais, and reached for the chain which connected Oola to him. He gave the chain a quick snap, and the Twi'lek slave obediently went out onto the dance floor. She performed as she always did, physically flawless but with an expression of sadness that never seemed to fade away. _I'll fix that, _Jabba thought as he began to reel in the chain. He pulled Oola closer, hand over fist, contemplating what he could do to her that would still excite him. Oola noticed the chain grow taut, and felt a surge of terror as she saw the distant expression on Jabba's face. It was one she had seen before, and she knew what awaited her once her body was within Jabba's reach. Today, she could stand it no longer. Overcome with panic, she dug her feet into the dusty floor, and pulled back on the chain. Jabba was much stronger to begin with, and when he felt Oola resist him, the rush of anger and excitement he experienced only added to his advantage. He thought he had broken Oola long ago, but she seemed to have retained just a shred of her independent spirit. At that moment, Jabba knew how he could get one last bit of enjoyment out of her. He had no use for defiant slaves...but he had a pet that was hungry for a meal. Jabba gave the chain one final tug, forcing Oola to skid forward onto the hidden trapdoor in front of his dais. Once Oola was right where he wanted her, Jabba slammed his fist down on the control panel next to him, and the floor dropped out from beneath Oola's feet.

Oola tumbled down the smooth, carved chute beneath the trapdoor, and slid out into a dank, rocky cavern. Once she regained her bearings, she glanced back at the chute, but a metal grate had slammed shut across it to prevent her from attempting to climb out. Oola looked up, and saw Jabba and his guests leering down at her through a ceiling of spiky bars, laughing as they jostled for a better view. She had been enslaved to Jabba long enough to know what awaited her now, and the bone fragments littering the sand at her feet made it even more obvious, but a part of her mind refused to accept it. She struggled in vain to think of a way out of the pit, but she knew there was none.

As Oola rose to her feet, she heard a sound that made her blood run cold. A huge gate at the far end of the cavern, spanning almost the entire distance from floor to ceiling, opened up. The metal squealed and groaned as it retracted into the ceiling. Beyond, lurking in the shadows, she saw the form of a hulking biped, easily five times taller than a grown man. Oola knew what it was even before it stepped out towards her: Jabba's rancor. She let out one last terrified scream, and the rancor drowned her out with a ravenous cry of its own.

Jabba watched with pleasure as his pet gulped down its meal, chain and all. He rarely passed up a chance to watch others satisfy their hunger, even though it often gave him cravings of his own. He reached down into the ornate aquarium by his side, and grabbed another Klatooine paddy frog. He stuffed the creature into his mouth, barely taking any time to savor the taste as he swallowed it whole. Just as he was deciding whether to eat another, there was a sound of blaster fire from the far end of the audience chamber. Jabba uttered a suprised groan, and turned to look at the stairwell. He saw one of his men run up the stairs, chattering excitedly at someone who was just out of sight. A moment later, the man was hurled backward with enough force to take him off his feet. His back slammed against the wall, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

_Finally, _Jabba thought. _Some real excitement._ He watched the stairwell closely, intrigued by this new arrival. Two figures entered the chamber: a short bounty hunter dressed in Ubese armor, and a towering biped covered in long, shaggy fur. The bounty hunter, known only as Boushh, had the shuffling biped on a chain, and led it to the center of the room. As the pair stepped into the light, Jabba immediately recognized the bounty. It was Han Solo's first mate, Chewbacca.

"I have come for the bounty on this Wookiee," the Ubese mercenary rasped. The helmet he wore covered his entire head and face, and added a strange, mechanical crackle to his voice. Chewbacca let out a mournful, warbling cry as his captor spoke.

"At last we have the mighty Chewbacca," Jabba growled. Finally, his collection was complete. Now he could have a cell built for the Wookiee opposite Solo's carbonite slab, so they could stare at each other for eternity. It would have to be soundproof, so he could enjoy Chewbacca's agony without having to listen to his bleating. Then again, Wookiees were renowned for their immense strength and mechanical aptitude. Perhaps he would set his new purchase to work, fixing those old, screeching doors that caused such aggravation every time they opened. He could even hire a Trandoshan overseer to keep the brute in line with a shock whip. Such degrading treatment was sure to coax an entertaining reaction out of the Wookiee, given their species' history. Of course, he would have to make the purchase to find out. _First things first,_ he thought. He called for his translator droid, and the newly reassigned C-3PO shuffled around the dais to stand before him.

"I am here, Your Worshipfulness!" C-3PO called. "Yes?"

Jabba gave C-3PO his orders in Huttese, and C-3PO dutifully turned and addressed Boushh.

"The illustrious Jabba bids you welcome, and will gladly pay you the reward of 25,000," the droid intoned.

The bounty hunter gave a curt reply in his native tongue. Most of the audience chamber heard only a few syllables, but C-3PO's audioreceptors were designed for inter-species communication, and he detected a simultaneous pitch that was outside the range of normal hearing. C-3PO promptly turned and translated for his new master.

"50,000. No less."

Jabba roared with anger, and struck his new translator in the chest. C-3PO tumbled backward, landing face-first in a puddle of vomit on the floor. As C-3PO struggled to his feet, Boba Fett stepped out of the shadows, keeping a line of sight on Boushh in case negotiations broke down further.

"What did I say?" the droid lamented. Jabba bellowed in Huttese, his massive head and body heaving with anger. C-3PO turned to address Boushh, struggling to maintain a dignified posture with vomit smeared across his head and body.

"The mighty Jabba asks why he must pay 50,000," C-3PO translated.

Boushh gave another short reply in Ubese, and withdrew a small metallic sphere from his utility belt. He rolled back a tiny switch on the surface of the sphere with his thumb, and held it. Tiny diodes on the surface of the sphere lit up, and it began to emit an ominous ticking sound.

"Because he's holding a thermal detonator!" C-3PO screamed, throwing his arms up in surrender.

While everyone else in Jabba's chamber dove for cover, Boba Fett reacted instantly and aggressively. He snapped his carbine up to a contact-ready position, using the targeting system in his helmet to align his muzzle perfectly with the detonator's thumb switch. If he took the shot, he was confident he could obliterate the circuitry guiding the switch without setting off the detonator itself. He waited for Jabba's command to press the trigger, but it never came. Instead, the Hutt laughed.

"This bounty hunter is my kind of scum," Jabba growled, his voice booming through the otherwise quiet chamber. "Fearless, and inventive."

Fett lowered his carbine, silently deactivating his helmet's targeting system. Jabba continued to speak in Huttese, and C-3PO promptly translated.

"Jabba offers a sum of 35," C-3PO said, "and I do suggest you take it!"

Chewbacca looked down at his fearless captor, and groaned inquisitively. Boushh responded in the affirmative, and smoothly rolled the thumb switch forward, rendering the thermal detonator inert.

"He agrees!" C-3PO shouted excitedly, as the bounty hunter secured the device on his utility belt. Without delay, two Gamorrean guards closed in on Chewbacca and took him by the chain. The Wookiee howled in despair as the guards led him to the dungeon. Boushh watched calmly as the music picked up again and Jabba's kitchen staff resumed the endless flow of food, drinks, and illicit substances. Boba Fett nodded approvingly as the surge of adrenaline started to wear off, contemplating whether he should return to the _Slave I_ to eat from the only food supply he trusted. He paid no attention to the dark-skinned guard wearing a mask of gondar tusks that followed Chewbacca to the dungeon. After all, the Gamorreans would need all the help they could get if the Wookiee decided to put up a fight.


	5. Chapter 5

V

The remainder of the evening passed as it always did in Jabba's palace—with raucous entertainment, gambling, and boundless amounts of alcohol and drug consumption. All manner of black market transactions were conducted in the shadows, and there were no consequences...as long as Jabba's cartel got its cut. Meanwhile, Jabba drank, smoked from his pipe, and gorged himself on imported delicacies until he could feel the powerful throbbing of his heart protesting in his chest. After the suns had set, the band stopped playing, and the ambient noise in the chamber died down. Most of Jabba's retinue fell asleep in their booths or on the floor, indifferent to the dirt and excrement surrounding them. A few retired to private rooms to enjoy the paid company of Jabba's exotic dancers. Jabba himself eventually withdrew from his dais to sleep, retiring to an alcove adjacent to his dais and shutting out the light with a thick, heavy curtain. Jabba's head slumped as he rested, supported only by the enormity of the rest of his body.

Once darkness had fallen over the palace, and the only noise that could be heard was the occasional snore of an unconscious drunk, Boushh crept back into the main audience chamber. He slunk across the chamber as quietly as he could, breathing slowly through his helmet until he reached the slab of carbonite that held Han Solo. Boushh pressed himself against the wall to avoid being seen, and toggled the switch that controlled the wall mount. The slab lowered quickly—_too quickly!_, Boushh thought worriedly—but there was no way to slow it down. The slab dropped to the floor with a loud _slam_. As the wall mount disengaged, the slab fell back against the wall with a second, equally loud noise that reverberated through the chamber. Boushh silently cursed himself. _Too late to turn back now,_ he thought.

Boushh reached up and manipulated the control panel embedded in the side of the slab, deactivating the module that kept the carbonite solidified. He stepped back and scanned his surroundings, detecting no movement. The figure of Han Solo began to glow cherry-red, and beams of white light flickered in all directions as the carbonite melted away. After only a few seconds, most of Han's face and hands were exposed to the air. His fingers curled as he awakened from hibernation, and his lips parted as he drew his first breath in a year. Boushh watched silently as the rest of the carbonite disintegrated and the light faded away. Han's body slumped forward and collapsed on the floor, leaving behind only an empty metal cocoon. He would serve as Jabba's wall ornament no longer.

Boushh knelt next to Han, and gently lifted him until he was sitting upright. Han took several quick breaths, and his eyelids fluttered as he regained consciousness.

"Just relax for a moment," Boushh rasped, speaking Basic. "You're free of the carbonite."

Han rubbed at his eyes, and Boushh attempted to calm him.

"Shh," he said. "You have hibernation sickness."

"I can't see," Han said as he shivered and struggled to prop himself up.

"Your eyesight will return in time," Boushh continued.

"Where am I?" Han asked.

"Jabba's palace," Boushh replied. A moment of panic set in as Han realized he had gone out of the frying pan and into the fire. He reached out with one hand, and brushed against the muzzle of Boushh's helmet.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Boushh raised his gloved hands, and lifted the Ubese helmet away. The face beneath belonged to no bounty hunter, nor a man. It was Princess Leia Organa, and she immediately used her true voice to soothe the man she had feared lost forever.

"Someone who loves you," she answered.

"Leia!" Han gasped. She leaned forward and kissed him with a passion she had held onto for the past year, intent on bringing Han back to his senses and getting him to safety. Although she wanted to continue, she broke away from their kiss and stood up.

"I gotta get you out of here," she said as she helped Han to his feet.

As Han stood, gently supported by Leia, an awful laugh echoed through the chamber.

"What's that?" Han wondered aloud. Then, a horrible thought struck him. "I know that laugh," he murmured.

The noise grew louder as the curtain that concealed Jabba's bedchamber was flung open. Jabba was wide awake, and surrounded by his lackeys, who joined him in laughter. Jabba's pet, Salacious Crumb, cackled louder than any of them, and slapped the tiny pillow on which he sat. Bib Fortuna leered silently at Han and Leia, menacingly baring his sharp teeth. C-3PO stood behind Jabba, waving his arms helplessly as a Gran criminal named Ree-Yees held a deformed hand over his mouth.

"Hey, Jabba," Han pleaded, orienting himself to the sound of the Hutt's voice. "Look, Jabba, I was just on my way to pay you back, and I got a little sidetracked. It's not my fault!"

"It's too late for that, Solo," Jabba replied coldly. "You may have been a good smuggler, but now you're Bantha fodder."

Salacious Crumb snickered again, feeding off of the insulting tone of his keeper. Several of Jabba's retinue chuckled as well, eagerly anticipating the punishment Jabba would deal out.

"Look—" Han began, extending a trembling hand as he stepped closer to the dais.

"Take him away," Jabba interrupted.

"Jabba—" Han continued, oblivious to the guards closing in from behind him. A Gamorrean named Jubnuk and a dark-skinned human named Fozec approached from either side, preparing to grab Han by the arms and hustle him off to the dungeon. Leia saw them approaching, and knew she had no choice but to act. If she stood still, she and Han would never see the light of day again. She reached under her cloak, and drew her blaster pistol from its concealed holster near the small of her back. She thrust the muzzle of the weapon towards Jabba as she took the slack out of the trigger, determined to blast the crime lord into oblivion. Just then, Jubnuk and Fozec reached her, and wrenched her arm up toward the ceiling. Leia managed to squeeze off a single blaster bolt, but it only struck the ceiling of Jabba's bedchamber, missing him completely. Startled by this new threat, Jabba slammed his fist against his bedside control panel, releasing the trapdoor upon which Leia stood. Leia, Han, Jubnuk, and Fozec all tumbled down as the floor disappeared beneath their feet.

The four rolled helplessly down the chute to Jabba's rancor pit, and tumbled out onto the sand. Han landed face-first, coughing and spitting sand out of his mouth as he struggled to right himself. Leia looked around in bewilderment, scanning the cavern for an exit. Jubnuk and Fozec, meanwhile, knew exactly what was about to happen. Jubnuk panicked, squealing and attempting to scramble back up the chute. His efforts were futile, but he was so overwhelmed by stress that he could not bring himself to do anything else. Fozec, on the other hand, breathed deeply and forced himself to remain calm. He scanned the sand at his feet and quickly spotted Leia's blaster pistol. He leapt forward and grabbed it before any of the others saw it there, and braced himself for what was to come.

Leia helped Han to his feet, and looked around at the guards. She noticed Fozec had picked up her blaster pistol, and her eyes widened. At first, she was afraid he might turn the blaster against her, but then she realized he wasn't pointing it at her. In fact, he wasn't looking at her at all. He was focused intently on the huge metal door set into one of the cavern's walls.

"What's going on?" Han asked.

"I don't know," she replied, experiencing a sudden sensation of dread as she wondered what was beyond that metal door. Just as she felt the sinking feeling in her stomach, the door lurched open with a piercing squeak. It slowly retracted upward, revealing a dark, shadowy chamber beyond. As the door rose, Leia saw the movements of an enormous creature on the other side. At first, she was just able to make out rippling muscles covered with brown, leathery skin, and the movement of huge, yellow claws. Then, as the door continued to rise, she could see that the claws were connected to hands the size of a grown man. She saw light reflecting from two cold, beady eyes set into a bulbous, square head, and a mouth lined with crooked fangs that looked strong enough to disembowel a gundark. In an odd moment of clarity, she even noticed the glint of an earring in the beast's left ear. Leia's heart rate surged as her brain attempted to comprehend the monster towering over her. The ground shook as Jabba's rancor stepped into the cavern. The rancor stretched its arms out wide, opened its fanged maw, and roared at its captive prey.

The rancor first turned its attention to the squealing Gamorrean, who was still attempting to pull himself out of the cavern through the gated chute. The sound of Jubnuk's panicked squealing appeared to excite the rancor. It leaned forward, thick strands of saliva dripping from its mouth, and extended its clawed hand to ensnare its next meal. Fozec acted quickly to protect Jubnuk, taking aim with Leia's blaster and firing two rounds at the rancor's head in quick succession. Both shots struck the rancor on the side of its jaw, and it roared in pain. It turned its attention to Fozec, and swung its arm out in a vicious, ape-like backhand. Fozec had no time to react. The rancor's swift blow landed directly across his face and torso, flinging him off his feet. Fozec's body flew across the cavern like a rag doll. His head and back struck the rock wall with a wet _slap_, and he fell to the ground, motionless.

Leia did not see where her blaster pistol landed, but it no longer mattered—she knew now that it would be useless against the rancor.

"Come on," she said to Han, whose blind eyes were wide with fear. In a way, it was worse that Han could not see the rancor, because his imagination was conjuring something even more terrifying for him. Despite the circumstances, he reflected on past experience and controlled his fear, as he had done under fire countless times before. He allowed Leia to guide him to a rock overhang, low to the ground, where he could conceal himself.

"Hide here," she ordered.

"What about you?" he demanded. There was no way he was going to allow any harm to come to her, blind or not. Besides, he had always been the type that would rather die fighting than hiding. Before Leia could answer, another high-pitched squeal erupted from the edge of the cavern. Leia turned to look, and saw the rancor clutching Jubnuk in one of its massive claws. The rancor lifted Jubnuk to its maw, and chomped down on his torso. Leia heard a sickening _crunch_ as the rancor's fangs pierced Jubnuk's armor and snapped his ribs. She took several deep breaths as she scanned the room again, struggling to find a solution that would prevent her and Han from sharing the Gamorrean's fate. Her attention was drawn to a tiny, gleaming light coming from the far end of the rancor's den. She hadn't seen it before, but now that the gate was open, it was clear. _A door!_ she thought. She knew it would be a perfect escape for them...if they could reach it.

"Han," Leia said firmly, "Take my hand. Get ready to run."

Han listened to her, gripping her hand in his own and crawling out from beneath the overhang. Leia glanced back up at the rancor just in time to see the Gamorrean's hand disappear down its throat. Its beady eyes fixed on her as Han continued climbing out into the open. _Oh, no_, she thought. She turned back to Han.

"Come on!" she shouted.

She was too late. The rancor wrapped its claws around Leia's ankles and pulled. The motion effortlessly yanked her hand away from Han's.

"Leia!" he cried, startled as his grip was broken. He waved his forearm back and forth in a vain attempt to find her again. Leia tried to kick her legs, grunting with effort, but it was pointless—the rancor's fingers were strong enough to bend a durasteel beam. The rancor lifted Leia off the ground and pulled her towards its open mouth. Leia's life flashed before her eyes as her brain searched for a way to keep fighting.

As the rancor lifted her toward the ceiling, Leia could hear the sound of Jabba the Hutt laughing from above. _That piece of filth is laughing_, Leia thought angrily. _This is just a show for him_. Anger flowed through her as she sensed the enjoyment the repulsive gangster was feeling. Instead of frustrating her more, however, she found the anger had a calming effect. When she embraced it, she felt as though everything had slowed down, and she saw every detail of her surroundings with more clarity than ever. She then felt something she could not describe. She had only felt it once before—when Luke called to her as they were fleeing Cloud City. It was like a voice in her head, but it spoke with feelings and images rather than words. The image it gave her was of her thermal detonator.

Leia silently cursed herself for not thinking of it sooner. As she dangled upside-down, being drawn inexorably closer to the rancor's open mouth, she brushed her cloak away from her face, and looked toward the ceiling so she could see her belt. She reached for the pouch that held the thermal detonator, keeping both hands over it so she would not accidentally drop it. She felt the satisfying weight of the tiny metal ball as gravity carried it out of its pouch and into her palm. She smelled the foul odor of the rancor's breath, and sensed that she only had fractions of a second to act. She looked over at the rancor. By now, its mouth filled her entire field of vision. In one smooth motion, she toggled the activation switch with her thumb and tossed the thermal detonator into the rancor's mouth.

The rancor wheezed and gargled reflexively as the tiny thermal detonator found its mark, lodging itself precisely in the beast's throat. The rancor had not expected its breathing to be interrupted, and dropped its prey out of surprise. Leia turned in the air as she fell, and landed in the sand with a thud. The moment she landed, she instinctively flattened herself out on her stomach, squeezed her eyes shut, and clapped her hands over her ears.

Even with her eyes shut tight, Leia saw the flash of the detonation. It appeared as red light as it permeated her eyelids, and she saw sparkles of every color as her pupils reacted to it. At the same time, she felt the tremendous blast wave pound the walls of the cavern. Immediately following the blast wave, something hot slapped her hard on the back. Leia moved her hands away from her ears, and rolled over to survey the cavern. The rocky walls were soaked with blood and entrails, from the floor to the ceiling, and the sand floor had turned to mud from the shower of fluids. The rancor's legs and pelvic girdle were crumpled in a bulging, fleshy heap in the middle of the cavern. The monster's ape-like arms had been flung to opposite edges of the room like tree branches in a windstorm. They were recognizable only from claw to elbow; what remained above the elbow stumps had the appearance of ground nerf meat. The rancor's head and torso had been blown to smithereens. The only thing Leia could see that had not been showered with rancor blood was a piece of gleaming metal, embedded in the rock wall about halfway between the floor and ceiling. She squinted at it for a moment before she realized what it was: the rancor's earring.

Leia stood and gave a heavy sigh of relief. She was thankful she hadn't broken or sprained anything, but she knew there was no time to waste. She turned to help Han to his feet, and found him reeling from the power of the blast wave.

"Han!" she called excitedly. He did not respond to the sound of her voice. She wondered why, then remembered she hadn't had a chance to warn him of the impending explosion. She knelt down sympathetically and helped him to his feet.

Han felt more disoriented than he had ever been in his life. He was already blind from hibernation sickness, and now his ears were ringing like a bomb had just gone off. _Great_, he thought. _Now I'm blind and deaf_. Even though he could hardly tell up from down, he managed to pull himself out from beneath the rock outcropping. He sat upright, but he knew there was no way he could stand on his own. He was relieved when he felt Leia's supportive touch at his side. She looped his arm over her shoulders, and guided him to what he could only hope was an escape route.

Leia assisted Han through the labyrinth of bloody remains that were scattered across the cavern, doing her best to concentrate on the access door and not the carnage. As they sloshed through the filth, her attention was momentarily drawn to a clump of flesh that stood apart from the rest due to its distinctive green hue. She glanced at it, and saw a distinctive Gamorrean face amidst the gore. Unable to bear the sight of Jubnuk's dead eyes staring back at her, she groaned with disgust and quickly looked away.

In moments, Leia and Han had reached the door at the far end of the rancor den. Leia toggled the control switch, and the door slid up into the ceiling. The doorway stood wide open, and in the room just beyond stood a man dressed as one of Jabba's guards. The man had discarded the mask of gondar tusks he was wearing earlier in the day, revealing his face. Leia wasn't used to seeing him with such a serious expression, as he usually effected a cocky smile, but there was no mistaking the countenance of Lando Calrissian.

"Let's go," Lando ordered, tossing Leia a spare blaster rifle he had pilfered from the armory. Leia caught the rifle and quickly surveyed the room. Two bodies were sprawled out on the floor to her right: Malakili, the rancor's keeper, and his Nikto assistant, Giran. She couldn't tell if they were unconscious or dead, and she had no desire to wait around to find out. While her attention was focused on the bodies, a pair of muscular arms covered in shaggy fur shot out towards her from her left. She stepped to one side, startled, and looked up to see Chewbacca carefully lifting Han off of her.

"Chewie!" Leia exclaimed. The Wookiee barked a greeting as he transferred Han's weight onto his arm.

"We're out of time," Lando growled. His gaze shifted to the sleeve and armpit of Han's white tunic, which was soaked with fresh rancor blood from resting across Leia's shoulders.

"Is he hurt?" Lando asked.

"He's fine," Leia replied. "You got a way out of here?"

"Follow me," Lando answered. They turned their attention to the door, and found themselves staring down the barrel of Boba Fett's carbine.

"Drop it!" Fett commanded, addressing all of the Rebels simultaneously. Lando's shoulders slumped as he realized they were trapped. He locked eyes with Leia, and saw that they shared the same dismayed expression. They let their rifles clatter to the floor, and turned their heads to look at Chewbacca. The Wookiee let out a feral growl, but did as the bounty hunter ordered.

"What now?" Han asked.

While Boba Fett held the four Rebels at blasterpoint, Jabba's Gamorrean guards shuffled into the room, brandishing vibro-axes. Their deep-set eyes were ablaze with fury. Jubnuk had occupied the lowest position in their pecking order, but they considered it a grave offense for any Gamorrean to be slain by an outsider. The largest of the boar-like guards, Captain Ortugg, stepped up to Leia until he was face-to-face with her, and rested the cheek of his vibro-axe on her shoulder. She stared directly into his eyes, determined not to show submission to one of Jabba's depraved servants. Ortugg bared his tusks, grunted, and sheathed his vibro-axe. Insulted by Leia's non-verbal challenge, Ortugg backhanded her on the side of her head. She stumbled back and was caught by another Gamorrean guard. Lando and Chewie protested loudly, but by this time they had already been placed in binders and were powerless to resist. Han joined in, the ringing in his ears having mostly subsided. Fett smirked beneath his helmet as the Rebels were led out of the room. _First the trick with the detonator, and now this?_ he thought. He had no sympathy for the Princess or her Rebellion, but he admired her tenacity.

The Gamorreans brought the prisoners directly to Jabba's main audience chamber, where the furious Hutt glared at them through the cloud of dust thrown up by the blast wave. His asymmetrical nostrils flared as he sucked in one deep breath after another. He had struggled to come up with a suitable punishment for the Rebels to share, and had even considered letting his entourage defile the female in front of the others, but decided against it. Only their deaths would be enough to satisfy his rage now. Besides, with his pet rancor destroyed, Jabba was in no mood to entertain a new slave girl. He raised his hand and summoned his translator droid.

"Oh, dear," C-3PO lamented. "His High Exaltedness, the great Jabba the Hutt, has decreed that you are to be terminated immediately."

"Good," Han replied sarcastically. "I hate long waits."

Salacious Crumb laughed at Han's dark sense of humor, but Jabba was too angry to acknowledge it. He gestured for C-3PO to continue.

"You will therefore be taken to the Dune Sea, and cast into the Pit of Carkoon, the nesting place of the all-powerful Sarlacc," said the droid.

"Doesn't sound so bad," Han remarked.

"In his belly," C-3PO added, "You will find a new definition of pain and suffering, as you are slowly digested over a thousand years."

Han's eyes widened. "On second thought, let's pass on that," he muttered.

"We have powerful friends," Leia warned, struggling to ignore the throbbing knot on her temple as she glared at Jabba. "You're going to regret this."

"I'm sure," the Hutt replied dismissively. He waved his hand, and his Gamorreans dragged the prisoners to the dungeon to await their executions.

Jabba looked around his chamber, peering through the dirt and dust that still clouded the air, and wondered how long it would take to clean the rancor blood off the ceiling. He sighed angrily as he realized there was no way he would get any more rest tonight. He was comforted only slightly by the knowledge that that Rebels wouldn't be able to rest, either. The condemned rarely got a good night's sleep on the eve of their execution. _Death is too good for them_, he thought.


	6. Chapter 6

VI

By daybreak, almost every room in Jabba's palace had emptied. Word had spread quickly through the night, and Jabba's entire entourage, including his Gamorrean guard detail, had congregated in the palace hangar in anticipation of the departure of his sail barge, the _K___hetanna__. Apart from the hangar, the only area of the palace that remained occupied was the dungeon. With the guards conspicuously absent, the prisoners pressed themselves against the bars of their cell doors, peering up and down the hall for the first time without fear of being smacked by a fat Gamorrean hand. Those that could understand one another began to communicate, wondering aloud what had happened to the three humans and the Wookiee that had been detained at the end of the hall for only a few hours before being whisked away.

As the excited chatter went on, a horrid-looking alien at the end of the hall groaned a warning, urging them to be quiet. His neighbors paid him no mind, turning their attention away from his pustule-covered skin and croaking voice, but then he yelled even louder. The prisoners stopped talking and glared in his direction, silently wishing for their cell doors to be opened so they could put the slimy alien in his place. Then, they heard the noise that prompted his warning: the faint clicking of mechanical spider legs echoing through the dungeon. Somehow, the disembodied B'omarr monks were aware that Jabba was no longer guarding his prisoners, and the spider droids that carried their devious brains were quickly approaching. The prisoners began to jabber with fright as the mechanical noise grew louder. When the spider droid belonging to Brother Beidlo stepped into view, the muted dialogue turned into screaming. The prisoners backed away from their cell doors, retreating to the furthest corners of their cells, but it was no use. Beidlo and his cohorts were obsessed with the constant study of the mind, and in the absence of Jabba's forces, there was nothing to keep them at bay. Their desires were simple: they would remove the prisoners' brains, preserving them in jars much like their own, and spend centuries experimenting on them. Whether the prisoner's consciousness suffered endless torment as a result of this process was of no concern to them. Within minutes, dozens of spider droids had crowded into the dungeon hall with Beidlo. Each of them reared up against a cell door, and extended cutting tools from the tips of their mechanical legs. Their victims screamed and screamed, cornered with no hope of escape. The sounds of raw terror were absorbed by the thick walls of the palace, unheard and unheeded. There was no one to come to their rescue.

Far above the dungeon, Jabba's massive luxury yacht floated just a few meters above the hangar floor, its powerful repulsorlift engines sending powerful vibrations into the ground below. Jabba himself was carried to the _Khetanna_ on a wide, rectangular hoversled, designed to support his immense weight. The hoversled followed a preset path that had been programmed into a remote by Jabba's side, allowing him to watch his surroundings as he was carried aboard. Today, instead of admiring the _Khetanna_ as he usually did, Jabba glared across the hangar, scrutinizing the pair of cargo skiffs that would accompany him to the Pit of Carkoon. Han, Leia, Chewbacca, and Lando were being marched onto one of the skiffs, their hands securely fastened behind their backs. Boba Fett boarded the skiff behind them, watching their movements carefully with the muzzle of his carbine pointed at the ground. Jabba had specifically ordered the Mandalorian bounty hunter to accompany the prisoners, along with three Weequay bodyguards to support him. After the embarrassing revelation that his own palace guard had been infiltrated by a Rebel fugitive, Jabba was taking no chances. He needed someone reliable in charge, and he knew Boba Fett would not fail him. For added security, Jabba's second skiff was also loaded with a squad of armed guards, both Weequay and Klatooinian. Between them, they carried enough firepower to drive off a horde of Sand People. Jabba reclined on his hoversled, satisfied that the measures he had taken would be enough to deter any further disruptions.

The hoversled carried Jabba to the hangar's platform elevator, which rose up until it was flush with the observation deck on the starboard side of the _Khetanna_. The handrail along the edge of the deck retracted, and the hoversled quietly glided over to another custom-built platform elevator that descended to the passenger deck. Only after Jabba was situated comfortably in his banquet room, near the stern of the passenger deck, did he order the hangar bay doors to be opened. The interior of his sail barge was well-shaded, and he saw no reason to expose himself to Tatooine's harsh sunlight unnecessarily. The poorly-lubricated hangar doors announced their movement with the same ear-piercing screech given off by every other door in the palace. Jabba ignored the noise, and ordered the _Khetanna_ to depart immediately. He was eager to watch the Rebels suffer, and if his guests hadn't boarded by now, it would be their loss.

The _Khetanna_ accelerated slowly, its orange sails catching the light of the suns as it emerged from the hangar. Jabba was oblivious to the cloaked, hooded figure that clambered onto the fuselage of the _Khetanna_ as it passed through the hangar doors. His attention was focused on the prisoner skiff, as if it would no longer keep pace with his sail barge if he looked away. He ordered the first of what he expected to be many tall drinks, and settled in for the long journey across the Dune Sea.

As the hours passed, Jabba and his guests relaxed in his climate-controlled banquet room, drinking and enjoying the ambient music. Meanwhile, the Rebels on the prisoner skiff were miserable. Boba Fett had all four of them on their knees, facing the bow of the skiff, while he stood silently behind them, flanked by Jabba's Weequay guards. The metal deck grew hot as Tatooine's suns rose higher in the sky, burning their knees through their sweat-soaked clothing, but they knew it would do no good to complain. The Rebels quietly endured, searching the horizon for a sign that help was coming for them.

"I think my eyes are getting better," Han declared. "Instead of a big, dark blur, I see a big, light blur."

"There's nothing to see," Leia said, struggling to hide the worry in her voice. "Not yet. But Luke will be here in time."

"Luke?" Han said incredulously. "Luke's crazy! He can't even take care of himself, much less rescue anybody."

At this, Chewbacca protested with a series of barks.

"A Jedi Knight?" Han scoffed. "I'm out of it for a little while, and everybody gets delusions of grandeur."

"Chewie's right, old buddy," Lando said. "A lot's changed over the past year. You should see—"

"Yeah, I should see," Han snapped. "But thanks to you, I can't. Maybe you can get me all caught up on what I've missed while we're being digested."

"Han, listen," Lando pleaded, softening his voice, "After you were frozen, I tried to make it right. You've got to believe me...we tried to rescue you."

"Tried," Boba Fett interrupted, "And failed. Now cut the chatter. I'm not being paid to listen to you argue."

The Mandalorian watched the Rebels closely. Although he had them in a position of disadvantage, he was on edge. He knew if all four of them turned on him at once, it could end badly, even with the Weequay guards on his side. He wished Jabba would have let him put cloth bags over their heads, but the spiteful Hutt had refused, wanting to savor their fear as they were prodded into the Sarlacc pit one by one. The bounty hunter frowned imperceptibly beneath his helmet, blinking sweat out of his eyes. The desert heat made things difficult enough, and his employer's bloodlust was only compounding matters. He reminded himself that the job would be over soon, and he had at least been able to convince Jabba to cough up four extra cases of hard currency for his trouble.

Aboard the _Khetanna_, R2-D2 whistled contentedly as he shuttled back and forth from the kitchen, serving drinks to Jabba and his guests. On his shoulder joints, he balanced an ornate tray piled high with glasses, and the circular panel at the top of his domed head had flipped open to allow him to extend a soda gun over the tray. R2-D2 displayed the droid equivalent of cheer in the performace of his duties, confident that his true master would find him when the time was right. As the fearless little droid made his rounds, C-3PO accidentally shuffled into him, toppling the tray and scattering its contents across the floor.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry—" C-3PO began, cutting himself off as he recognized his counterpart. "Artoo! What are you doing here?"

R2-D2 replied with the simplest answer his programming would allow.

"Well, I can see you're serving drinks, but this place is dangerous!" C-3PO replied. "They're going to execute Mistress Leia—and if we're not careful, us, too!"

R2-D2 chirped and whistled with an upbeat tone, attempting to reassure the jittery protocol droid.

"Hm! I wish I had your confidence," C-3PO admitted.

R2-D2 maneuvered around C-3PO, leaving enough space to avoid any additional mishaps, and proceeded toward the bow of the _Khetanna_ to replace his serving equipment. As R2-D2 rolled toward the galley, his sensors alerted him to a man standing in the shadows, cloaked in black. The man stepped into R2-D2's path, but unlike C-3PO, he moved gracefully, displaying a keen awareness of his surroundings.

"Hey, Artoo," came the man's casual greeting, his voice barely above a whisper. R2-D2 emitted a stream of excited noises as he recognized the voice as Luke Skywalker's.

"Shh," Luke warned, kneeling down with an affectionate smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was relieved to have found the droid, but he didn't want R2-D2's cheerful outburst to reveal his presence. He also knew there was no cause to celebrate—not yet, anyway.

"Looks like I'm going to have to handle this the hard way," he muttered. He reached for the panel on R2-D2's head that concealed his lightsaber. R2-D2 discreetly ejected his master's weapon, and Luke concealed it beneath his cloak.

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to this," Luke said softly. He rose to his feet and peered toward Jabba's banquet hall, mentally preparing himself for the fight that was sure to come.

"Artoo?" Luke called. The droid swiveled his head to look up at him. "Find Threepio. You two need to get off this death trap as soon as you can."

R2-D2 uttered a fearful moan, but did as he was told, rolling off to find his counterpart before it was too late.

After what felt like mere seconds to the condemned Rebels, the undulating dunes gave way to level ground, and they could see a giant cone-shaped depression in the sand in front of them. They stopped directly over the center of it, while the other skiff circled the perimeter, ensuring there was nothing in the area that would threaten the convoy. The _Khetanna_ slowed to a halt along the edge of the pit, its crew carefully positioning the sail barge so its shadow would not disrupt Jabba's view. The _Khetanna's_ repulsorlift engines sent distinct vibrations through the sand, provoking a subterranean monster that had learned to expect a meal from the noise. There was a loud, primal hiss from below as the Sarlacc awakened.

The helmsman of the prisoner skiff toggled a switch on his instrument panel, and a metal plank slid out from the fuselage, extending from the starboard side. Boba Fett stepped back to allow two of the Weequay guards to pass. The first Weequay prodded Leia to her feet with his vibro-axe, and the second removed her binders so she would not lose her balance before reaching the end of the plank. Leia cautiously looked over the starboard side of the skiff, and grimaced with disgust. At the very bottom of the pit was a gaping, circular maw, several meters across and marbled like fatty meat. It was ringed with hundreds of razor-sharp, inward-facing teeth the length of her forearm. Thick, fleshy tentacles emerged from the mouth to probe the air, waving at her almost invitingly. Each angry hiss from the mouth of the Sarlacc was accompanied by a wave of hot breath. When it reached Leia, she could smell a sour, acidic odor that reminded her of fresh vomit. She shuddered as she recalled C-3PO's description of the Sarlacc. _In his belly, you will find a new definition of pain and suffering...pain and suffering...pain and suffering..._ Leia dismissed the thought, refusing to live the last moments of her life in fear. _Come on, Luke_, she wondered. _Where are you?_


	7. Chapter 7

VII

Jabba licked his lips excitedly as he prepared to begin the day's festivities. He barked an order to C-3PO, and the droid picked up a nearby microphone, stepping up to the nearest window to speak on behalf of his master.

"Victims of the almighty Sarlacc," C-3PO began, his voice amplified by the sail barge's announcement system, "His Excellency hopes that you will die honorably."

At that moment, R2-D2 bumped into C-3PO's leg, chirping excitedly in an attempt to draw the protocol droid's attention. C-3PO deliberately moved the microphone away from his body.

"Not now, Artoo! Not now!" he said, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. He brought the microphone close again to continue addressing his former companions.

"But should any of you wish to beg for mercy, the great Jabba the Hutt will now listen to your pleas."

Jabba narrowed his eyes and nodded mockingly. Bib Fortuna grinned, leering at the condemned Rebels with his fangs bared.

"Threepio!" Han shouted, stepping up with one foot in an attempt to rise to a standing position. Boba Fett reacted immediately, putting his hand on Han's shoulder to push him back down. "You tell that slimy piece of worm-ridden filth he'll get no such pleasure from us!"

Han's outburst was greeted only with a cacophony of laughter from Jabba and his onlookers. Han glanced in Chewie's direction.

"Right?" Han asked his partner. Chewie grunted nervously.

At that moment, Luke stepped out of the crowd, relaxing the Force techniques he had been using to remain unnoticed.

"Jabba!" Luke called. A hushed silence fell over the room, and Jabba's lackeys scurried toward the edges of the deck, leaving only empty space between the Jedi and the Hutt.

"At last!" C-3PO cried, while R2-D2 continued trying to get his attention. "Master Luke's come to rescue me!"

Jabba rotated his massive head toward Luke, growling with a combination of surprise and anger at this unwelcome development.

"You will release Captain Solo and his friends to me," Luke commanded. He could feel the Force augmenting his words, giving him a persuasive power that only the strongest will could resist. As it turned out, Jabba was impervious to the ancient Force trick.

"Your mind powers will not work on me, boy," Jabba taunted.

"Nevertheless, I'm taking your prisoners with me," Luke said firmly, lifting his hood away as he spoke. "You can either profit by this, or be destroyed. It's your choice, but I warn you not to test me. You won't have a chance to reconsider."

Jabba calculated the odds against Luke, and laughed confidently. "There will be no bargain, young Jedi," he sneered.

"In that case," Luke warned, casting his cloak aside, "You should tell your guests to leave the room."

The most skittish of the criminals in attendance made their way out of the banquet room without any further prompting. The others remained still, eager to see what would happen next. Two of Jabba's Gamorrean guards stepped around his hoversled and stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the open space between Luke and their master, planting their feet and brandishing their vibro-axes menacingly. Four more Gamorreans forced their way into the room from behind Luke, pushing Jabba's guests out of the way as they fanned out behind Luke. _Good_, Jabba thought. _Now he'll get to watch what happens next_. He toggled his microphone, broadcasting his voice across the Pit of Carkoon.

"Move her into position," he ordered. The Weequay obeyed, prodding Leia out onto the plank with his vibro-axe. She stepped to the end of the plank, glancing down nervously at the enormous fanged mouth of the Sarlacc. She was unable to hear the commotion in the banquet room, but something in the back of her mind told her that Luke was near. She scanned the horizon again with hope in her eyes, expecting a sign that he would arrive in time to keep his word.

"Jabba!" Luke shouted, his voice leaving no room for argument. "This is your last chance. Free them, or die!"

The Hutt's only reply was more of the same rumbling laughter.

"Put her in!" Jabba commanded.

Luke's lightsaber was in his hand before any of the crowd could react. The green blade flashed to life, illuminating the gloomy chamber and reflecting off the oily faces of the Gamorreans.

Leia's eyes widened with surprise as she saw the blade of Luke's lightsaber shining brightly through the slatted windows of the _Khetanna_. She instinctively burst into action, turning to face the Weequay holding the vibro-axe at her back. She grabbed the handle and pulled, sensing that the Weequay would give a powerful reflexive tug to avoid being drawn out over the Sarlacc. She turned out to be correct. The Weequay heaved backward with all his strength, pulling Leia to safety aboard the skiff. Aided by her momentum, she slammed into the Weequay, and they both fell to the deck.

When he saw Leia wrestling for control of the vibro-axe, Boba Fett raised his carbine and aimed for the nape of her neck. By the time he was taking the slack out of the trigger, however, it was too late. Lando and Chewbacca were already on their feet and rushing toward him. Both prisoners leaned forward at the waist and slammed their shoulders into him. Lando struck first, disturbing his sight picture but accomplishing little else. Chewbacca, on the other hand, crashed into him with every last bit of his terrific size and strength. Both Lando and Fett were blindsided by the Wookiee's attack, and collapsed on the deck like rag dolls.

Jabba saw the chaos unfolding on the skiff and roared with anger. Determined to bring the situation back under his control, he shouted for his Gamorrean guards to kill Luke. All six of them surged forward at once, shaking with adrenaline and eager to spill blood for their master. To Luke, the clarity brought on by the Force made the Gamorreans appear to be charging in slow motion. He spun on his feet, swinging his lightsaber into the guards behind him. He heard the blade hiss as it cut through flesh, but felt no resistance. The first Gamorrean to feel Luke's blade dropped to his knees, his torso split open from his hip to his opposite shoulder. Fat sizzled as it oozed out of the wound, and the entrails beneath were instantly scorched black. The next Gamorrean was in the middle of swinging his vibro-axe when he suddenly realized he wasn't holding it any more. He glanced down at his hands, and saw only blackened stumps. Before his brain could fully process the sight, there was a flash of green light, and he saw no more. The other Gamorreans saw their comrade's severed head land on the deck, and squealed with rage. They charged forward, pressing their attack.

Luke let the Force flow through him, just as Obi-Wan and Yoda had taught him, and he felt the stress of combat melt away. His hands manipulated his lightsaber flawlessly, guiding him to inflict fatal wounds without conscious thought. The green blade sliced effortlessly through horn, helmet, and tusk, and the third Gamorrean fell, his face blackened and unrecognizable. Luke sensed another Gamorrean behind him raising a vibro-axe overhead with both hands, and he thrust his blade into the creature's exposed armpit. The lightsaber pierced the Gamorrean's heart and both lungs, and then it was withdrawn. The last two Gamorreans lunged forward together, and Luke stepped into their attack, cutting through their vibro-axes and killing them before the fragments hit the deck. Luke breathed deeply, glaring defiantly at Jabba as he scanned the room for his next challenger.

Adrenaline coursed through Leia's veins as she fought for her life on the deck of the prisoner skiff. With a strength unlike any she had ever felt before, she twisted the vibro-axe out of the Weequay's grip and smashed it into his face as hard as she could. The Weequay went limp, knocked unconscious by the impact. Leia wasted no time, plucking the binder key from the Weequay's bandoleer so she could free her companions.

Meanwhile, Boba Fett propped himself up on one elbow, struggling to recover from the stunning blow Chewbacca had delivered. He felt Lando next to him, struggling to kick him as his hands were still restrained. Fett threw one leg over Lando's body, straddled him, and delivered two quick, incapacitating punches to his face. Before he could draw back his fist for a third, he felt a gut-wrenching kick from the Wookiee. Chewbacca's hands were still behind his back, but he had his legs free—and the decades he'd spent climbing _wroshyr_ trees on his homeworld of Kashyyyk had covered them with layers of dense muscle. The bounty hunter was flung away from Lando, and skidded awkwardly on his stomach. He rolled over, only to see Chewbacca raising his foot to crush him like an insect. Fett reacted instantly, deploying a fibercord whip from his right wrist gauntlet. The line cast itself perfectly, wrapping tightly around the Wookiee's legs. Chewbacca toppled to the deck, roaring with anger and struggling to break the filament that had ensnared him. Fett sat upright, tightened his abdominal muscles to stabilize his shooting platform, and aimed his carbine at the center of the Wookiee's snout. From this distance, he would not miss.

Leia sensed the threat to Chewbacca's life, and felt her strength renewed. She cocked the vibro-axe over her shoulder and swung with all her might. The blade of the axe smashed into the visor of Boba Fett's helmet, and his head snapped back as it absorbed the full brunt of the impact. He fired his carbine, but it was no longer aimed at Chewbacca. The blaster bolt struck one of the remaining Weequay guards in the center of his chest, killing him.

Seeing a brief window in which to act, Leia retrieved her key and freed Lando, Han, and Chewie from their binders. While Chewbacca unraveled the cord around his legs, Lando picked up the vibro-axe dropped by the second Weequay guard and swung it into the chest of the Nikto helmsman, sending him overboard. The third Weequay aboard the skiff cowered near the stern, trembling as he held up his weapon indecisively. Chewbacca grabbed the Weequay and threw him overboard, roaring triumphantly as he tumbled into the mouth of the Sarlacc. The Rebels felt relief wash over them as they realized they now had control of the skiff.

Jabba the Hutt frantically shouted orders to his remaining subjects, desperate for results after watching Luke cut through his Gamorreans so easily. Several in the crowd rushed forward, armed with a motley assortment of blasters, vibro-blades, and blunt instruments. One audacious fighter even broke the rim of his glass and charged Luke with the sharp edge. The Jedi moved gracefully, his feet carrying him between his enemies like water flowing around rocks. As Jabba struggled to see between the bodies of his men, he glimpsed the flash of Luke's green blade, scattering weapon fragments and severed limbs each time it whirred through the air. Jabba grabbed Bib Fortuna by the sleeve and shoved him into the fray. The opportunistic Twi'lek picked a blaster pistol up off the deck and pointed it at the back of Luke's head. Luke spun around as the Force warned him of the unseen threat, and chopped through Bib's wrist. Jabba's majordomo crumpled, screaming in pain and clutching at the stump where his clawed hand had been.

As the onslaught continued, the wily Salacious Crumb was consumed by the desire to win his master's approval. The Kowakian lizard-monkey jumped on Luke's shoulder and opened his beak, preparing to bite down on Luke's exposed neck. Luke winced as he felt the claws sink into his shoulder. He reached up with his support hand and grabbed the screeching animal by the scruff of the neck. With all his strength, Luke hurled the devious little beast through the open window of the sail barge. Salacious Crumb screamed as he landed and rolled down into the pit, clawing at the sand to no avail. The Sarlacc sensed the creature's frantic movements and reached up with one of its tentacles, catching Jabba's pet and pulling him in to be devoured.

Just as Lando took the helm, the second skiff closed in on him. As soon as they were within range, the mercenaries on the second skiff aimed their blasters and opened fire on the Rebels. Han, Leia, and Chewbacca ducked for cover, and Lando realized there was no way he could avoid the blaster fire for long. He quickly made the only decision that would even the odds. He pressed down hard on the accelerator, deliberately aiming his bow at the second skiff. There was a tremendous jolt as the skiffs collided, and Lando had to brace himself against the helm to keep from being hurdled over it, but it worked. Most of Jabba's men were unprepared for the sudden impact, and they tumbled into the pit. Those who did not fall directly into the Sarlacc's fanged mouth had only seconds to contemplate their fate, as the Sarlacc extended its tentacles and greedily pulled them the rest of the way in.

Boba Fett twitched and grunted as he felt the skiffs collide. He was still disoriented, but he had fought through worse. He saw that the Rebels were preoccupied with the second skiff, taking advantage of their newfound proximity to finish off Jabba's crew with their blasters and vibro-axes. He looked over to the _Khetanna_, and his heart sank. A bright green light—unmistakeably a lightsaber—was whirling to and fro in the banquet room, and from the anguished screams carrying across the pit, the fight was devastatingly one-sided. In that moment, Fett decided the skiff could wait. His overriding concern was to protect his employer. If Jabba was killed in the fighting, he wouldn't get paid—and if he didn't get paid, all this would be for nothing.

Fett activated his jet pack and leapt out over the Pit of Carkoon, adjusting his flight path so he could fire through the windows of the banquet room. He kept his movement slow in order to fire more accurately, silently cursing Leia for damaging his helmet's built-in targeting display. He had enough fuel for three minutes of flight time, and he knew that would be plenty. Fett aimed at the silhouette closest to the lightsaber and fired, but there were too many moving bodies in the room, and his shot struck a bystander in the back. Fett took aim again. He didn't care about collateral damage at this point, as long as Jabba lived long enough to load the _Slave I_ full of credits.

As Chewbacca finished off the last of Jabba's mercenaries on the second skiff, he caught sight of Boba Fett flying over the pit and firing at Luke. Chewie roared a warning to Han, who quickly turned to look. His vision wasn't back to normal yet, but he recognized the jet pack instantly.

"Boba Fett," Han growled. He took aim with his blaster pistol, focusing on the area between the jet pack's directional thrusters. Lando stood just behind Han's shoulder, holding a vibro-axe stained with Weequay blood.

"I thought you were blind," Lando said.

"I can see a lot better," Han quipped. He positioned the dark blur of his muzzle over the center of the jet pack, trusting that his sights were where he pictured them.

"Just a little higher," Lando coached. Han squeezed the trigger, and his shot struck Boba Fett's jet pack, disabling one of the jets completely. Fett cried out in surprise as he spun out of control. Before he could take any corrective action, the remaining jet carried him in a wide, downward spiral and drove him headfirst into the sand. His mind screamed at his body to move, but he had no time. The Sarlacc wrapped a tentacle around his legs and pulled him into its mouth, swallowing him whole.

Chewbacca gave another triumphant roar upon seeing Boba Fett disappear into the mouth of the Sarlacc. The Sarlacc's only response was a loud belching sound, accompanied by another cloud of rancid breath. Chewbacca and the other Rebels checked their surroundings, and saw that both skiffs were clear. All of Jabba's forces had been slain, or were slowly digesting in the bowels of the Sarlacc. It appeared the fighting was over. Leia looked over at the _Khetanna_, and realized it had fallen ominously quiet. She heard no screaming, no blaster fire—no more commotion of any kind. She exchanged worried looks with her companions, and Lando immediately took the helm and brought their skiff alongside the observation deck of the _Khetanna._

Leia and Chewbacca hopped from the skiff onto the _Khetanna_ with their blasters ready. They listened carefully for any signs of an enemy ambush, but none came. Instead, they heard a quiet, mechanical shuffling sound as C-3PO and R2-D2 emerged from the shadows. Leia sighed with relief, while Chewbacca bellowed a query at them.

"No, Chewbacca, I have not seen Master Luke," C-3PO answered. "I'm afraid we were separated, and I couldn't possibly—"

C-3PO was interrupted by a metallic screeching noise from the deck beneath his feet. The Rebels gripped their blasters in a low-ready position, preparing for the worst as a vast, rectangular cargo hatch slid open before their eyes. Jabba's platform elevator ascended out of the gloom, noisily rising up until it was flush with the deck. Standing on the elevator was Luke, his deactivated lightsaber at his side and a grim, determined expression on his face. On the hoversled behind him, immobilized by his own weight, was Jabba the Hutt.

Even in defeat, Jabba glared angrily at Luke and his companions, sucking deep breaths through his nostrils as he contemplated his revenge. Luke did not need the Force to sense Jabba's thoughts. From body language alone, he already knew the Hutt would never rest until they were all dead.

Luke quietly walked over to the railing on the port side of the observation deck, and cut it away with his lightsaber. The pieces tumbled over the edge and struck the sand below with a _thud_. The Sarlacc sensed the vibrations through the ground, and extended its tentacles hungrily.

"Jabba," Luke began as he looked down into the pit, "Earlier, you spoke of dying with honor." He turned away from the Sarlacc, and looked Jabba in the eyes before continuing. "Now we're going to find out how much honor really means to you."

He crossed over to the starboard side of the deck, and cut away the railing there in the same fashion, leaving a sheer drop on both sides of the sail barge. With the Force, he lifted one of the jagged shards of the railing, rotating it in front of Jabba's face so he could see the pointed tip at its end. Luke cast it over the starboard side with a flick of his wrist. The durasteel beam embedded itself in the sand, with the razor-sharp edge pointed up at the sky like a sword. Satisfied, Luke stepped directly in front of Jabba, and held out his hand. In it, he held a small remote—the control for Jabba's hoversled. He held out the remote, but Jabba refused to take it.

"You can take the honorable path," Luke offered, nodding his head to the quick impalement that awaited Jabba over the starboard side. "Or, I can send you after your men," he said, nodding over his shoulder to the port side. As if on cue, the Sarlacc let out an ominous hiss. "I'll leave it to you to decide."

For a moment, no one spoke. Jabba clenched his fists tightly, refusing to budge. Han, Leia, and Chewbacca looked on without saying a word. Of all the Rebels, only Lando showed a hint of anxiety.

"Luke," Lando said, his brow furrowed with concern, "If we do this, are we any different from him?"

"Sure we are," Han interjected, glaring at Jabba and sticking out his chin defiantly. "We're not going to make him beg."

Lando lowered his gaze, and said no more. Luke sensed that Jabba would never die of his own volition, and dropped the remote. Jabba's eyes widened, and his grotesque, toad-like face displayed a look of horror as the tiny device clattered to the deck. It seemed that the Hutt finally understood the seriousness of Luke's ultimatum.

"You should have bargained, Jabba," Luke chided. "That's the last mistake you'll ever make."

He held up his hand, fingertips extended, and felt the power of the Force envelop Jabba's hoversled. The heavy metal slab began to move, drifting slowly toward the port side of the observation deck. Jabba roared in protest, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

"Oh, I can't bear to watch," C-3PO murmured, turning away and shielding his photoreceptors with his hand. The others stood silently, watching as the hoversled carried Jabba inexorably toward his doom. Jabba screamed and cursed in Huttese the entire way, his plump arms and tail quivering as he struggled to move, but his fate was sealed. Luke made eye contact with the crime lord for the last time as the hoversled teetered on the edge of the deck.

"Farewell, exalted one," Luke said. He dropped his hand to his side, and the hoversled tipped its vile passenger over the edge. Jabba roared, spittle flying from his mouth as he fell. He flailed his arms uselessly as he plummeted into the mouth of the Sarlacc, his last scream echoing across the Dune Sea until it was cut short by the impact. The Sarlacc reacted with surprise, its exposed tentacles convulsing and coiling over upon themselves as if it had suffered an electric shock. It had been some time since the Sarlacc had its entire mouth obstructed—after all, banthas knew to steer their calves far away from the Pit of Carkoon. The ravenous creature quickly adapted to the situation, however, and all of its tentacles wrapped around Jabba's obese body simultaneously, cocooning it with hungry flesh. The Sarlacc gurgled and hissed as its rows of sharp teeth pulsated inward, helping it to swallow. It took several minutes for Jabba's entire body to disappear down the Sarlacc's gullet.

Once Jabba was finally gone, Luke turned to Leia, who had moved closer to his side to watch the Hutt's demise.

"Come on," he beckoned, holding out his hand. She took it and stepped onto the skiff without looking back. Luke reached out with the Force again, using his powers to control the heavy blaster cannon fixed to the observation deck. The unmanned turret rotated as though it had a mind of its own, and aimed itself at the deck of the _Khetanna_. Once Luke had aimed the blaster cannon right where he wanted it, he used the Force to press the trigger. The energy blast from the cannon tore into the bowels of the sail barge, and a ball of flame erupted from below. Luke sensed that a single shot would suffice, and hopped aboard the skiff.

"Let's go," he called out to Lando.

"We're on our way," Lando replied, a satisfied grin on his face. He opened up the throttle, pushing the skiff to its top speed. The Rebels turned to watch as the chain reaction set off by the deck cannon engulfed the _Khetanna_. Han smiled to himself. He was finally starting to see normally again, and he couldn't have asked for a more welcome sight.

The Rebels abandoned the skiff when they reached the rendezvous point where the _Millennium Falcon_ and Luke's X-Wing were hidden. Luke and R2-D2 prepared his X-wing for takeoff, while C-3PO and the remaining Rebels boarded the _Falcon_. By the time news of Jabba the Hutt's death broke across Tatooine, both ships were tearing out of the planet's atmosphere. With Tatooine hundreds of miles behind them, the ships veered apart.

"I'll meet you back at the fleet," Luke said into his comm unit.

"Hurry," Leia replied. "The Alliance should be assembled by now."

"I will," Luke reassured her.

"Hey, Luke, thanks," Han called. "Thanks for coming after me. Now I owe you one."

Luke smiled as he pointed the nose of his X-Wing in the direction of the Sluis Sector, thousands of light-years away. R2-D2 identified their new course, and sent a text query to a display on Luke's instrument panel.

"That's right, Artoo, we're going to the Dagobah system," Luke confirmed. R2-D2 immediately made the necessary calculations for their imminent jump to hyperspace.

"I have a promise to keep," Luke went on, "To an old friend."


	8. Chapter 8

VIII

Darth Vader stood in the control room for the second Death Star's superlaser, gazing out at an endless field of stars through a thick, panoramic window. Far below his feet was the forest moon of Endor, a lush, blue and green world to which the Death Star was anchored in a geostationary orbit. He ignored the picturesque moon, focusing instead on the stars beyond. Somewhere out there, his son was hiding from him. He thought of calling out to Luke again, of using the Force to make the boy hear his voice, but decided against it. Luke would surface soon enough, and when he did, Vader would enlist his help to bring a sudden and violent end to the reign of Emperor Palpatine. In the meantime, however, there were more pressing matters that required his attention.

Vader could hear the hushed voices of the Death Star gunners behind him as they made last-minute adjustments to the massive superlaser. The crew worked at a feverish pace, as had everyone aboard the battle station since his unannounced arrival. Moff Jerjerrod stood silently behind Vader, nervously surveying his men as they hurried from one instrument panel to the next. Vader could sense the fear rolling off of Jerjerrod, and reminded himself that the man had good reason to be afraid. By now, all hands aboard the Death Star had heard the news. The Emperor had departed Coruscant, and was en route to personally inspect his crowning achievement.

In the dwindling moments before the Emperor's arrival, Vader admired the fleet of Star Destroyers arrayed just a few kilometers beyond the Death Star's impenetrable deflector shield. Their white finish reflected the light of Endor's sun, making them stand out against the infinite black horizon, and their wedge-shaped hulls gave them the appearance of a phalanx of spearheads, pointing outward to defend the incomplete Death Star against any incursion. In the center of the formation was a slate-gray dreadnought that dwarfed the surrounding Star Destroyers, casting its shadow over them like a tree over a field of grass. With its immense size, dagger-like silhouette, and the blood-red glow of its sublight engines, it was immediately recognizable as Vader's personal command ship, the _Executor_. He assured himself that his flagship was in good hands, and the weapon he kept hidden there stood no chance of discovery. Admiral Piett understood perfectly that his life would be forfeit if he or any of his men dared to invade the Dark Lord's privacy.

As Vader watched, he saw hundreds of glittering pinpoints of light erupting from beneath each of the Star Destroyers. From a distance, the effect was not unlike a cloud of shrapnel, but he knew better. The sparkling effect was caused by sunlight reflecting off the wings of TIE fighters, which had begun deploying from their Star Destroyers' ventral hangars in full attack squadrons. The deployment of so many fighters meant only one thing. The command ships had timed the Emperor's route, and his shuttle would be exiting hyperspace at any moment. Vader turned to Moff Jerjerrod, who was still watching the Death Star gunners with uncertainty in his eyes.

"The Emperor approaches," Vader warned. "Is the primary weapon operational?"

Moff Jerjerrod glanced over at the chief Death Star gunner, making no attempt to hide the fear in his eyes. The officer studied the control panel in front of him carefully before looking up at Jerjerrod and giving a curt nod.

Moff Jerjerrod turned to answer. "Yes, my Lord," he quivered.

"Good," Vader said calmly. "It would be most unpleasant if you had to deliver bad news to him."

Vader stepped away from the window and began walking out of the room. Jerjerrod remained still, unable to decide whether he should follow or remain behind to supervise his men.

"The time has come," Vader reminded him, "Unless you wish to keep the Emperor waiting."

A startled expression crossed Jerjerrod's face, but he quickly suppressed it as he rushed to Vader's side. To Jerjerrod, the days had begun to blur together as he hurried from one sector of the Death Star to another, working without sleep in order to avoid Vader's wrath. It was difficult enough for most officers to adjust to the lack of discernible nights and days aboard a vessel where artificial lighting was constant, but Jerjerrod had stopped paying attention to the time. Now, he felt as if he was floating, watching his own actions from afar. The presence of Darth Vader, practically a death threat by itself, coupled with the litany of projects with impossible deadlines, had reduced him to a ragged, exhausted shell. As he stepped out of the superlaser control room, he stared straight ahead, following Vader obediently without any thought of where they were going. For all he knew, Vader could have been leading him into a trash compactor, but even then, he would have been too tired and defeated to protest. He stepped into a turbolift with Vader without saying a word, and stared blankly at the inside of the door as it closed around them.

Vader ignored the quiet hum of the turbolift, and allowed himself to reflect on what he had accomplished since his arrival from Cotellier. In addition to assuming a more direct motivational role over Moff Jerjerrod, he had also taken the opportunity to revise the dozens of administrative orders that governed any emergency situation involving the Death Star. At face value, the changes seemed beneficial to the Emperor, streamlining the chain of command beneath him, and allowing him to override all communications throughout the Death Star and the surrounding fleet. No one had any reason to question Vader's actions, nor view them as suspicious, considering his reputation. Even so, Vader was careful to ensure that his work appeared to be in the best interest of emergency operations. He had to be sure his penultimate maneuvers would stand up to the Emperor's scrutiny, in the unlikely event he took the time to review them. If they did not, Vader's plans for himself, his son, and the entire galaxy would be undone.

As the turbolift descended toward the Death Star's equatorial trench, Vader sensed Jerjerrod's fear growing stronger than ever. He was pleased to feel that fear, as he knew it would draw the Emperor's attention, and help to mask his own mutinous thoughts. As long as he kept his conscious mind clear, Palpatine would suspect nothing.

Only seconds later, the turbolift slowed to a stop, and the door slid open automatically. Vader moved immediately, lengthening his stride as he made his way to the hangar that would receive the Emperor's shuttle. Without looking back, he could sense Jerjerrod struggling to keep up. As they navigated the seemingly endless maze of corridors, Vader felt a tremor in the Force unlike any other, a nightmarish feeling that crept up his spine and triggered a fight-or-flight response in his brain. He knew it signaled the presence of his master, and quickened his pace. His mechanical breathing remained steady, while Jerjerrod's breaths grew shorter and more rapid. Vader cautioned himself one last time to keep his mind clear, and to allow the fearful thoughts of his subordinate to keep the Emperor occupied.

Vader and Jerjerrod stepped into the Emperor's enormous hangar, and saw an impressive assembly of officers, stormtroopers, and technicians lined up in parade formations. There were so many men in attendance, they nearly filled the room from end to end. Upon seeing Vader and Jerjerrod, they dressed up their lines and stood at attention, a perfect display of Imperial discipline and precision. The only substantial gap between the formations was a wide aisle in the center of the hangar, allowing Vader a clear line of sight to the shuttle's landing pad. As he proceeded down the aisle, his attention was drawn to the stormtroopers, who held their E-11 blaster rifles at port arms. Vader knew the combined firepower of all those stormtroopers would be enough to conquer a small moon—had they been truly armed. Every blaster the stormtroopers carried had been meticulously unloaded and stripped of its focusing coils, and the commanding officers had inspected each of their men to ensure no ammunition or live weapons were brought into the hangar. The Emperor trusted no one but Vader and his own Royal Guards to be armed in his presence.

As Vader continued down the aisle, he noticed a pair of Viper probe droids hovering behind the parade formations. The probe droids were the same type used to scour isolated planets for Rebel activity, but here, they used their advanced sensors to scan each occupant of the room. They were programmed to view every individual as a threat, regardless of the fact that the only men admitted to the hangar for this occasion had spotless disciplinary records and exemplary performance reviews. The probe droids monitored vital signs, body language, and eye movement, searching carefully for any hint of a threat to the Emperor's safety. Vader displayed no reaction, even beneath his mask. He knew that as long as the Force was with him, no droid would ever be able to detect his true intentions.

Vader and Jerjerrod stood silently and waited for the Emperor, watching squadron after squadron of TIE fighters pass by outside the hangar. Just minutes later, a _Lambda_-class shuttle approached, passing through the magnetic field that protected against the vacuum of space and docking just meters in front of where Vader and Jerjerrod stood. Vader remained still as the shuttle's boarding ramp lowered to the hangar floor. The Emperor's Royal Guards exited first, their crimson robes standing out brilliantly against the backdrop of white stormtrooper armor and gray officers' uniforms. They lined up on both sides of Vader and Jerjerrod, force pikes braced against their right shoulders, their footsteps completely inaudible. Vader counted six of them in all. As the Royal Guards flanked him, he knelt down on one knee and lowered his gaze to the floor. The dreadful tremor in the Force was stronger than ever now. He could hear soft footsteps, and the faint tap of a cane, as Emperor Palpatine disembarked.

At first glance, Palpatine did not appear to be the embodiment of tyranny that so many feared. His body was hunched over, and he used a gnarled, black cane when he walked. What was visible of his face beneath his black hood was pale and wrinkled, the skin of an old man that looked as if it might bruise at the slightest touch. But Vader knew better than to trust his eyes. Beneath Palpatine's frail exterior was a shrewd, devious intellect that could bend the Force to its will more easily than any other being in the galaxy.

"Rise, my friend," Palpatine said, his voice crackling as he spoke. He raised his left hand in a welcoming gesture, beckoning Vader to his feet. Vader knew his master meant nothing by calling him "friend." In the waning days of the Republic, Palpatine had deceived almost the entire government with kind words and placating gestures. _Even the Jedi_, Vader thought. _Even me_. He knew where that line of thinking would lead, and stopped himself before it could betray him. He looked down at his master cautiously as they crossed the hangar, but Palpatine said nothing. Vader broke the silence, deliberately limiting himself to a matter of routine that would not arouse suspicion.

"The Death Star will be completed on schedule," Vader promised, studying what little he could see of Palpatine's face to gauge his reaction.

"You have done well, Lord Vader," Palpatine replied. "And now, I sense you wish to continue your search for young Skywalker."

Vader glanced at his master, startled. _How did he know?_ In that moment, he was thankful that his breathing was controlled by machines. Had his body been intact, his biological reaction of surprise might have betrayed him on the spot. He reminded himself that Palpatine had discussed this very subject with him before, and that nothing overtly sinister could be gleaned from his admission of the truth.

"Yes, my master," he acknowledged.

"Patience, my friend," Palpatine said. Vader could feel relief wash over him, and he was quite content to let his master think that the feeling came from his reassuring words. Palpatine continued, "In time, he will seek you out...and when he does, you must bring him before me. He has grown strong. Only together can we turn him to the dark side of the Force."

"As you wish," Vader replied.

"Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen," Palpatine gloated, revealing his yellow, decayed teeth as he let out a hoarse laugh. Vader continued to stare straight ahead, saying nothing. He knew if that were true, he would already be dead.


	9. Chapter 9

IX

Luke brought his X-wing out of hyperspace over Dagobah, and used his sublight engines to make his approach through the murky atmosphere. This time, he anticipated that his instruments would fail, and he did not allow panic to overtake him. Although he still did not understand how the untamed planet could overload his X-wing's scanning equipment, he kept his mind at peace, and trusted the Force to guide him to safety. Luke's faith was well-placed. Even without being able to see his destination, he managed to land his starfighter in the same patch of swamp from which he had departed over a year ago.

He powered down his X-wing and removed his helmet, looking off in the direction of Yoda's hut as the cockpit opened. He quickly spotted the minute structure, despite the natural camouflage afforded it by its dried-mud construction and the surrounding vine-tangled trees. A soft, orange light emanated from within, and a faint wisp of smoke curled out of the chimney. Luke smirked as he wondered if Yoda had predicted his arrival and prepared food for both of them. He climbed down from his X-wing and sniffed the air. He could smell Yoda's cooking, all right...but something felt out of place. Luke reached out with the Force, and a terrible thought occurred to him: Yoda was dying.

Luke sprinted to the hut without bothering to change out of his blaze orange flight suit. The muddy ground sucked at the soles of his boots, and he instinctively tapped into the Force to keep from falling. He pushed forward as fast as he could, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and hoping that his premonition was wrong. Luke reached the burrow-like entrance to the hut, and crouched down so he could crawl inside. His heart racing, he clambered into the room where Yoda had slept since the fall of the Republic. As he had hoped, there was Yoda, standing next to the fireplace, taking weak, shallow breaths and leaning on his gimer stick for balance. The ancient, green-skinned Jedi Master turned his head to see Luke, who slumped down into a seated position with his back against the wall.

"Master Yoda," Luke began, his voice fraught with worry.

"That face you make," Yoda said faintly. "Look I so old, to young eyes?"

Luke realized that he was making no effort to hide his concerned expression. "No!" he lied. "Of course not."

"I do," Yoda said, turning away from the crackling fireplace and coughing weakly. "Yes, I do." He looked down at his own wrinkled hands, and frowned. "Sick have I become," he continued. "Old and weak."

Luke could not think of anything to say in response. Yoda looked up at him, and managed a playful grin. "When 900 years old you reach, look as good, you will not! Hmm!"

Yoda grunted with effort as he shuffled across the room. He attempted to disguise the noise as teasing laughter, but was quickly reduced to another cough. At last, he reached his bed, nestled in the corner by Luke's side, and pulled back his blanket.

"Soon will I rest," Yoda sighed as he sat down on his bed. "Yes...forever sleep. Earned it, I have."

"Master Yoda, you can't die!" Luke protested, knowing that it would do no good.

"Strong am I with the Force," Yoda acknowledged, "but not that strong." His child-sized arm trembled as he held his gimer stick out in Luke's direction. Luke accepted it carefully, handling it as he would a priceless work of art, and gingerly leaned it against the opposite wall.

"Twilight is upon me," Yoda mused, "And soon, night must fall." He struggled to pull his blanket over himself, and Luke leaned forward to help cover his master.

"That is the way of things," Yoda went on, "The way of the Force." His eyes slowly closed as his voice trailed off.

"But I need your help!" Luke pleaded. "I've come back to complete the training!"

"Complete, your training would be already," Yoda admonished, "had you stayed. But unwilling to make the sacrifice, you were. And absolute, your failure was."

"Master, I know I failed," Luke said sincerely. "My mistake cost me so much—but it taught me more than I ever expected." He clenched his right hand, and felt the servomotors rotate beneath its artificial skin. "I know I have what it takes now," he argued. "I'm no longer afraid of failure!"

"Learned the same lesson here, you could have...in another six months. But you had no patience." The diminutive Jedi master coughed again, and glanced at Luke's mechanical hand. "Cost you a limb, it did. A small price to pay...for one so reckless usually pays with his life."

"I wanted to," Luke hissed, allowing a hint of anger to creep into his voice. "In that moment, I would have rather died than gone with him. And I jumped. How could I not?" In his most serious tone, he repeated the most terrible, life-altering fact he had ever learned. "I'm the son of Darth Vader."

Yoda's ears perked up, and he clenched his blanket tightly in his closed fists. He inhaled deeply, his mouth twisting into an ugly frown as he fought to suppress his cough.

"The son of Anakin Skywalker, you are," Yoda growled. "A man long dead. A great and powerful Jedi, he was. But he chose the dark side. Took a new master, he did...and a new name, he was given."

Luke was humbled by the severity of Yoda's tone. "Darth Vader," he murmured.

"Confront him again, you must," Yoda ordered. "And his Emperor. Confront them...and destroy them both."

"Master," Luke said skeptically. "I've grown much stronger. I've studied the journals Obi-Wan left behind. I've finished my new lightsaber! But even now, I'm still not powerful enough to do that! How can I defeat both of them alone?"

"Alone?" Yoda replied incredulously. He attempted a faint laugh as his eyelids drooped again, but it sent him into yet another coughing fit. "You cannot. Impossible, it would be, to defeat them alone."

"Then who will fight with me?" Luke asked desperately. "Obi-Wan already told me he can't interfere. There are no other Jedi, are there? He told me Vader helped the Emperor destroy them all."

"The truth, it was," Yoda answered. "When gone am I...the last of the Jedi will you be."

Luke's jaw dropped as he wondered how he could possibly preserve the legacy of the Jedi by himself. Yoda sensed Luke's thoughts, and responded with a smile that somehow appeared sad. He shifted slowly beneath his blanket, and his eyelids drooped even further.

"Luke," Yoda whispered, "Do not underestimate the powers of the Emperor...or suffer your father's fate, you will. Train another, you must...and together, you will destroy the Emperor...and his apprentice."

Luke wondered what it would be like to train an apprentice of his own, and how he would even begin to search for a suitable candidate. When he looked down at Yoda for guidance, he saw that his old master's eyes were already closed.

"Master!" Luke called. "Who is it? Who will I train?"

Yoda summoned all his remaining energy to draw one more full breath, and gave Luke his final riddle. "There is...another...Sky...wal...ker."

In that moment, the swamp around Yoda's hut went quiet, and the only sound that could be heard was the crackling of the fireplace. Luke's heart sank as he saw that his master's tiny rib cage was no longer rising and falling. Just then, Yoda's body disappeared, his physical form fading into the ethereal. The Jedi master's sackcloth robes crumpled without a body to prop them up, and a distant thunderclap echoed through the trees. Luke stared in awe as he sensed that both of his mentors were now one with the Force. He found himself staring into the fireplace, losing himself in the dancing flames as he pondered the future. What would he do, now that he was the last Jedi left alive in the galaxy? He was still determined to defeat the Emperor, but he was convinced Yoda was right—he couldn't do it alone. Luke clambered out of Yoda's hut and sighed as he trudged back to his X-wing.

As Luke reached his starfighter, he turned back to look at the quaint little mud hut one last time. The windows of the hut fell dark as the fire within burned itself out. Luke realized that with Yoda gone, he no longer felt like he was dreaming. It was almost as if a magic spell had been broken, and now Dagobah was just another unremarkable primordial bog, with no more reason for him to stay.

R2-D2 beeped at Luke to request his assistance, and he knelt down to examine the droid's work. The stubborn little astromech was attempting to re-wire some of the scanning equipment that had short-circuited when they entered Dagobah's atmosphere. Luke appreciated R2-D2's effort, but he knew immediately that he was too distracted to help. He thought of the honor—and the burden—that had just fallen on his shoulders, and was overwhelmed.

"I can't do it, Artoo," Luke confessed. He stood upright and gazed out at the fog that swirled across the fetid swamp. "I can't go on alone."

"Yoda will always be with you," a distant voice echoed.

"Obi-Wan," Luke gasped, turning to look in the direction of the voice. He could see the glowing specter of a man emerging from a secluded, misty grove just a few meters away. Luke stepped toward the shimmering apparition, ducking to pass beneath the laser cannons of his X-wing. He felt relieved that Obi-Wan had appeared to him again, especially since he had received no reply the last time he called out to him. When Luke remembered that fateful day, however, his sensation of relief disappeared. Now that the memory of Vader's revelation had occurred to him, he could not hold back.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Luke demanded. "You told me Vader betrayed and murdered my father!"

For a moment, Obi-Wan said nothing. He sat down on a nearby outcropping and stared at the ground with embarrassment and shame in his eyes.

"Luke, your father was once a decent man," he began softly. "When I first knew him, he was kind and generous. He was a good friend, and I was amazed how strongly the Force was with him. I took it upon myself to train him as a Jedi." Obi-Wan took a deep breath to control his emotions before continuing. "I thought that I could instruct him just as well as Yoda," he lamented. "I was wrong."

Luke stepped closer and sat next to Obi-Wan, anxious to hear more, but his voice had trailed off. He looked away, gazing into the fog with that look of shame etched into his face, and Luke could see that memories of the past were weighing heavily on his mind.

"What happened?" Luke asked. Obi-Wan smirked, and his eyebrows perked up, as though he was amused by the challenge of condensing all his thoughts into a single answer.

"The Clone Wars happened," Obi-Wan said dryly. "Your father believed he could save the galaxy, and he showed such potential that I very nearly believed him. But as the war dragged on, the galaxy changed...and so did he. In the end, he was seduced by the dark side of the Force. He fell in league with the Emperor, and turned against the Jedi. From that moment, he ceased to be Anakin Skywalker, and the good man who was your father was destroyed. He became a different man entirely, Luke. He became Darth Vader."

Luke could see that even now, after so much time had passed, it was difficult for Obi-Wan to tell the truth about his past. He wondered what exactly had transpired between his father and Obi-Wan that would leave such deep emotional wounds, but quickly decided it would be better left unsaid. Instead, he asked the one question that bothered him more than anything.

"Why couldn't you tell me before?" he asked.

"After what happened to your father, you were our only hope," Obi-Wan replied. "Both Yoda and I agreed that you were not ready for the burden—that you should be fully trained as a Jedi before we explained the truth. I told you the only thing I could, Luke. I was terrified of losing you to the Emperor, the way I lost him."

Luke thought of Obi-Wan's strange expression when he first told him of his desire to learn the ways of the Force. He thought of how distant Obi-Wan had been, once he had begun his training on Dagobah. It all started to make sense to him. He sat quietly, focusing his thoughts and listening to the calls of the surrounding wildlife. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, his inflection more sympathetic.

"Obi-Wan," Luke began cautiously. "When I fought with Vader, he held back. He didn't want to kill me. He wanted me to join him. He wants the same thing we want—to destroy the Emperor."

"Luke, he may want that now," Obi-Wan countered, "But you must understand, he wants it for a very different reason. He wants to replace the Emperor, to take the throne for himself. In order to save the galaxy, they both must die...and their Empire must die with them."

"What if I could turn him back to the light side?" Luke asked. "I know there is still good in him. That's why he didn't kill me when he had the chance."

"He's more machine now than man," Obi-Wan replied dismissively, "Twisted and evil."

"But together, we could defeat the Emperor—he said it himself! Then, when it's just the two of us, I could persuade him to come back with me."

Obi-Wan remained unmoved. "I once thought as you do," he said. "Luke, you don't know the power of the dark side. Your father chose his path when he joined the Emperor...and he will not turn from it."

"Then who else is there?" Luke asked, fighting to suppress his frustration. "Yoda spoke of another Skywalker. Who is it?"

After a brief pause, Obi-Wan answered. "The other he spoke of is your twin sister," he revealed.

"But I have no sister!" Luke protested.

"To protect you both from the Emperor, you were hidden from your father when you were born," Obi-Wan explained. "The Emperor knew, as I did, if Anakin were to have any offspring, they would be a threat to him. That is the reason why your sister remained safely anonymous."

A memory burst into the forefront of Luke's mind, suddenly washing away his confusion. It was the memory of his defeat at Cloud City, when he had clung to a flimsy antenna with the last of his strength, and called out for anyone to help him before he lost his grip and fell to his death. He had reached out with the Force, projecting his thoughts to anyone who could sense them, and there was only one who had answered.

"Leia!" he gasped. "Leia is my sister!"

"Your insight serves you well," Obi-Wan confirmed. "You must confide in her, Luke. Train her as Yoda would have, and tell her everything I could not bear to tell you."

Luke nodded respectfully to his old master, and stood. He felt somewhat dazed, as he struggled to absorb this flurry of new information. He faced his X-Wing, and used the Force to lift R2-D2 into the air, placing him gently into the external socket that would connect him to the starfighter. The effort, although small, reminded him of the omnipresent nature of the Force, and helped to calm his racing mind. As he stepped toward the ladder that would bring him to the cockpit, Obi-Wan called out to him again.

"Luke," he warned, "Be mindful of the dark side of the Force. It will always be there, even without the Emperor to spread its influence. Watch over your sister—you must not allow her to suffer your father's fate."

"I won't," Luke promised. He knew now what he had to do. He had kept his word to Yoda, and he intended to keep his word to his friends as well. He would make his way along the Rimma Trade Route to Sullust, and rendezvous with the Rebel fleet. Once he arrived, he would do his best to honor his masters, and explain the truth to his sister. _Boy, is she in for a surprise_, he thought.


	10. Chapter 10

X

Luke sat quietly in the cockpit of his X-Wing as the swirling vortex of hyperspace flashed around him. He kept his eyes closed, to prevent the endless spiral of bright blue light from straining them, but he was unable to rest. His mind was racing with thoughts of what he would say to Leia when he reached his destination. _My sister_, he thought, and let out a deep sigh. There was still a small part of him that tried to reject the idea, even though he was certain it was true. Perhaps it was because, when they first met, he had found himself attracted to her. Of course, he hadn't known any better at the time, but now he knew he would never think of her that way again. _Hell_, Luke thought, _there are enough jokes about Tatooine moisture farmers already, aren't there?_ Besides, even if they hadn't been related, it was obvious that she had already found true love, with Han. Luke was happy for them, and relieved that the awkward tension that once existed between Han and himself had long since evaporated.

Now, as he approached the rendezvous point in the Sullust system, Luke contemplated how he could re-introduce himself to Leia as her twin brother, and how he could broach the even more difficult truth of their father's identity. He knew the conversation would disturb her greatly, no matter how gentle his words, and he wanted to ensure he did not drive her away from himself in the process. As he dismissed one awkward idea after another, he found himself sympathizing even more with Obi-Wan. He could no longer blame his old mentor for being deceptive; to him, the consequences of revealing the truth seemed just as dire as the consequences of keeping it hidden.

Before Luke could mentally rehearse what he planned to say, he heard R2-D2 beeping at him through his instrument panel. He opened his eyes, and saw that his faithful astromech droid had just sent him a text update. Luke read the monitor, which told him they were within seconds of arriving at the rendezvous point.

"Thanks, Artoo," he said through his comm unit. He brought his X-Wing out of hyperspace with perfect timing, and the blue vortex around him disappeared. In its place was a beautiful sight: a field of glowing starship engines, so bright that they washed out the stars beyond. Hundreds of star cruisers, transport ships, and support vessels had gathered here, over the volcanic planet of Sullust, to mount an all-out attack on the Empire. Luke smiled, and his confidence soared as he took in the might of the Rebellion spread out before him. Even after the disastrous setback at Hoth, the Rebels had miraculously managed to regroup, and in the past year, their ranks had swelled with even more disaffected citizens from dozens of star systems. Now, the fleet was at the height of its strength, commanding firepower not seen since the days of the Old Republic, and the Rebels could say with confidence what they could never have said before. They could now go toe-to-toe with the Imperial Navy, and win.

As Luke guided his X-Wing toward the fleet, he was reminded of a memory from his early childhood on Tatooine. He'd been running errands at the marketplace with his Uncle Owen, and had slipped away to wander the aisles by himself. He remembered perusing the merchandise halfheartedly, wishing his uncle hadn't dragged him away from playing his model T-16 skyhoppers. Just before his boredom turned to frustration, however, he had noticed a vendor with a holographic display at the front of their booth. The sight of the hologram had set his heart racing. It was an enormous, detailed picture of a Mon Calamari coral reef, laid out beautifully in three dimensions. When Luke saw it, he immediately pictured himself cruising along the Mon Calamari seabed in his own private submersible, watching the marine life swarm around him. He remembered trying to count the number of different species in the hologram, but it was impossible. There were too many shapes, too many colors, moving around each other in so many different ways. Luke's smile grew even wider, and he shook his head gently to focus his mind on the present. _Where Yoda would want me to be_, Luke remembered fondly. He wondered if his master had been watching over him somehow, even on that day at the marketplace. _This one, a long time have I watched_, Yoda's words echoed. _All his life has he looked away...to the future...to the horizon...never his mind on where he was! Hmm! What he was doing!_ Luke shrugged to himself, and decided it wouldn't do any harm to indulge his child-like sense of wonder for just a few more seconds. A part of him sensed that his destiny, and perhaps even his death, would soon be upon him. In a way, it made the memory of his childhood feel bittersweet, like the last meal of a condemned inmate. He briefly wondered what had triggered the memory in the first place, then realized the answer was right in front of him. Most of the ships that surrounded his X-Wing were of Mon Calamari design, and it was no coincidence that their silhouettes vaguely resembled aquatic life. The other vessels, hailing from a multitude of star systems oppressed by the Empire, drifted between the hulking Mon Calamari cruisers like schools of fish. At the center of the formation was the naval equivalent of a whale—a bulbous flagship that dwarfed the other vessels the way the _Executor_ dwarfed other Star Destroyers. That ship carried a name that was both symbolic and literal to much of its crew: the _Home One_.

Thanks to R2-D2, Luke had no trouble reaching a secure comm channel and broadcasting his intentions to the _Home One_'s hangar crew. When they recognized his name and his starfighter, both legendary throughout the Alliance, the crew practically ushered him into the main hangar. As he climbed out of the cockpit, he could sense that they were holding back from fawning over him. He also did his best to hide his true feelings—specifically, his aversion to being treated like a celebrity—and politely made his way past them. He knew the way to the ship's main briefing room, and even without using the Force, he could sense that a large audience had gathered there. The dull roar of conversation echoed through the gleaming white-paneled corridors ahead of him, and he could see a few stragglers marching in that direction. In order to avoid disrupting the briefing, and to give him a few extra moments to think about his responsibility to Leia, he tapped into the Force to mask his own presence. He felt the ancient stealth technique wash over him like a cool breeze, and walked confidently to the room where his friends were waiting.

Luke reached the briefing room, which was built like a great, circular amphitheatre, and paused in the doorway behind the top row of seats. The room was full of men, women, and droids, including C-3PO, whose gold-colored body panels brilliantly reflected the glare of the overhead lights. In addition to humans and droids, Luke could see at least one Sullustan in the crowd, and what appeared to be a trio of Dressellians. The pilots in the room were already dressed in their blaze orange flight suits, and an impressive-looking team of Rebel commandos had donned ponchos with a forest camouflage pattern. Luke saw that the command staff wore traditional uniforms that predated the Empire itself: khaki vests over pale blue, long-sleeved collared shirts. Some even carried blaster pistols in old-fashioned leather flap holsters. In fact..._No, it couldn't be_, Luke thought. _Lando?_ But sure enough, there he was, standing in the front row beside Han, Leia, and Chewbacca. He wore a pale blue cape that closely matched the uniforms of the other commanders. _They made him a general!_ Luke realized. He remained where he stood, pleased that no one had noticed him, and eager to find out what would transpire next. R2-D2 quietly rolled up behind him, but stopped there and drew no attention to himself.

Luke heard a soft beeping noise echo through the briefing room, and the overhead lights went dim. A light-skinned woman with short, red hair stepped toward the holoprojector in the center of the room. She wore formal white robes, of a style once worn by senators in the days before Emperor Palpatine's dissolution of the legislature. She carried herself with an air of dignity, but from the look in her eyes, it was clear she had witnessed many of the Empire's atrocities firsthand. Her name was Mon Mothma, and her uncompromising passion for liberty made her a perfect candidate for a leader of the Rebel Alliance.

"The Emperor has made a critical error, and the time for our attack has come," she began. Her voice was soft and pleasant, but there was no questioning her confident tone. As she spoke, the holoprojector in front of her displayed an enormous blue and green sphere, representing the forest moon of Endor, along with a model of the Death Star, represented by a tiny red sphere in its orbit.

"The data brought to us by the Bothan spies pinpoint the exact location of the Emperor's new battle station. We also know that the weapons systems of this Death Star are not yet operational. With the Imperial fleet spread throughout the galaxy in a vain effort to engage us, it is relatively unprotected. But most important of all, we've learned that the Emperor himself is personally overseeing the final stages of the construction of this Death Star." Her voice went quiet, almost down to a whisper, as she concluded, "Many Bothans died to bring us this information." She lowered her gaze, silently reflecting on those who had made the ultimate sacrifice.

After a moment of silence had passed, Mon Mothma's confident tone returned. "Admiral Ackbar, please," she introduced. The famous Mon Calamari leader stepped forward, and wasted no time explaining the hologram that slowly rotated in the center of the room.

"You can see here the Death Star orbiting the forest moon of Endor," he croaked. In spite of his sibilant pronounciation, his tone and body language commanded respect. "Although the weapons systems on this Death Star are not yet operational, the Death Star does have a strong defense mechanism." He took a deep breath before continuing, making a soft wheezing sound as he struggled to cope outside of the aquatic environment he was used to. "It is protected by an energy shield, which is generated from the nearby forest moon of Endor."

As Admiral Ackbar gestured toward the hologram with his webbed fingers, a field of translucent yellow light emerged from the simulated surface of Endor, forming a three-dimensional teardrop shape as it expanded. The yellow light enveloped the Death Star completely, leaving no openings to be exploited.

"The shield must be deactivated if any attack is to be attempted," Admiral Ackbar warned. As he said this, the holographic projection of Endor disappeared, and the red orb representing the Death Star expanded dramatically to take its place. "Once the shield is down, our cruisers will create a perimeter while the fighters fly into the superstructure and attempt to knock out the main reactor."

A simulated shower of sparks erupted from the center of the hologram, and the entire Death Star was transformed into a gleaming ball of light. The hologram disappeared, and the overhead lights brightened to illuminate the room once more.

"General Calrissian has volunteered to lead the fighter attack," Ackbar declared, gesturing toward Lando.

"Good luck," Han called out. Lando looked over at his one-time friend, unsure of how to reply. "You're gonna need it," Han added dryly.

Ackbar paid no attention to the remark. Instead, he gestured toward a blond-haired, bearded man to his left. "General Madine," Ackbar announced. Madine stepped foward, carrying a ceremonial baton in his hands.

"We have stolen a small Imperial shuttle," Madine revealed. "Disguised as a cargo ship and using a secret Imperial code, a strike team will land on the moon and deactivate the shield generator."

"Sounds dangerous!" C-3PO exclaimed.

"Wonder who they found to pull that off," Leia muttered, leaning over so only Han would hear. Han opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, General Madine cut him off.

"General Solo," Madine inquired, "Is your strike team assembled?"

Han replied as confidently as he could, ignoring Leia's surprised expression. "Uh, my team's ready...I don't have a command crew for the shuttle."

Chewbacca immediately barked at Han, and raised one great, furry arm into the air in protest.

"It's gonna be rough, pal—I didn't want to speak for you," Han reassured him. Chewbacca grunted and barked again, affirming his commitment.

"That's one," Han said, grinning proudly.

"General!" Leia called, almost playfully. "Count me in."

Luke sensed that there would be no better time to reveal himself. He unbound the Force technique that had kept him hidden from the occupants of the room, and stepped forward out of the doorway. "I'm with you, too!" he said loudly. He stepped down to the front row, where Leia immediately embraced him with a friendly hug. As she broke her grip and looked up at his face, she saw his distracted expression.

"What is it?" she asked.

Luke knew it would do no good to have their inevitable conversation in the middle of the crowded briefing room. "Ask me again sometime," he said, smiling reassuringly. As Han and Chewbacca stepped forward to greet him, he heard R2-D2 utter a series of excited beeps that he easily translated as an expression of glee.

"Exciting is hardly the word I would choose," C-3PO said to his counterpart.

As the Rebels made their way out of the briefing room, Luke noticed Han scanning the room, and sensed that something was troubling him. Leia seemed to recognize the same thing, and started to reach out to him, but Luke paused her with a gesture of his hand. Luke could tell that Han had something he wanted to do before leaving for battle, and knew it would be best to leave him to it.

Han didn't notice Lando slipping out of the room as soon as the briefing was over, and he had a feeling that was deliberate on Lando's part. Deep down, he knew why, and he had no intention of letting Lando get away with it. _Enough is enough_, he thought. _I'll be damned if one of us gets killed before I make things right_. Leaving Chewbacca, Luke, and Leia behind, he pushed his way down the corridor to the hangar, squeezing past the other Rebel fighters and offering quick apologies as he went. The Rebels were confident and upbeat, but there was a lot of stress in the air, and he preferred to save the fighting for the Empire. When he finally stepped out onto the open floor of the hangar, he spotted Lando's distinctive blue cape walking briskly away from him.

"Hey, Lando!" he shouted. Lando stopped in his tracks, and his shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. At last, Lando turned to face his old friend.

"Hey yourself, General," Lando replied, affecting a casual attitude and flashing his familiar grin. Han didn't smile back. He looked Lando straight in the eye, and spoke with a firm, committed voice.

"I want you to take the _Falcon_," he said.

"Han, old buddy..." Lando gasped. He knew what Han meant by the gesture, but as much as he wanted to make amends and rebuild their friendship, he wasn't about to let him go overboard. "After everything that's happened between us..."

"Don't try to talk me out of it," Han interrupted, sternly pointing a finger at Lando. "You need all the help you can get—she's the fastest ship in the fleet," he grumbled. "And I don't trust anybody else to fly her."

"I thought you didn't trust me at all," Lando pointed out.

"We've never trusted each other, Lando. When has that ever stopped us from being friends?" Han joked. Lando resisted the urge to smile, and nodded in agreement.

"We still need to set the record straight on a couple of things," Lando muttered.

Han nodded grimly. "We'll hash it out when the fighting is over," he promised.

"Over a game of cards?" Lando challenged, raising his eyebrow and leaning forward slightly.

"Easy," Han warned. "The carbon-freeze didn't damage my memory, you know. You're not winning her back—forget it."

"Look, I know what she means to you," Lando said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "I'll take good care of her. She won't get a scratch. All right?"

"Right," Han nodded, and turned to board the stolen _Lambda_-class shuttle behind him. Before he could bring himself to walk up the shuttle ramp, he turned and called out to Lando again. "I've got your promise, now," he confirmed, "Not a scratch?"

Lando laughed and waved his friend away. "Would you get going, you pirate?" he teased. Han realized it was too late to worry about the _Falcon_ now, considering that he was about to leap headfirst into one of the most dangerous missions of his life. He gave Lando a friendly salute, and Lando returned the gesture.

"Good luck," Lando offered.

"You, too," Han said grimly. As he turned and walked up the ramp with the last few members of his strike team, he wondered what kind of odds C-3PO would give them. He dismissed the thought when he made it all the way into the shuttle. Sitting in front of him were the camouflage-draped members of his team, an elite squad of the most skilled and ruthless commandos in the known galaxy. As they strapped themselves into the passenger bucket seats, Han glanced at each of them, and saw pure determination on each of their faces. Even with their demolitions and heavy weapons stowed, Han knew he wouldn't want to go toe-to-toe with any of them. Luckily for him, he wasn't dressed in stormtrooper armor. He made his way to the cockpit, where Luke, Leia, Chewbacca, and the droids were already settled in. He saw that Luke was manipulating the overhead switchboard, adjusting the flight settings in preparation for takeoff.

"You got her warmed?" Han asked.

"Yeah, she's coming up," Luke replied.

As Han took his seat in the co-pilot's chair, Chewbacca grumbled at him with an annoyed tone.

"Yeah, well I don't think the Empire had Wookiees in mind when they designed her, Chewie," Han pointed out. He looked out the cockpit window at the _Falcon_, and frowned. Leia stepped in behind him, and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," she said comfortingly. "You awake?"

"Yeah, I just got a funny feeling," Han replied, nodding toward the _Falcon_. "Like I'm not going to see her again."

Chewbacca moaned forebodingly, but Leia simply smiled.

"Come on, General," she suggested, tapping him on the shoulder again. "Let's move."

"Right," Han agreed. "Chewie! Let's see what this piece of junk can do. Ready, everybody?"

"All set," Luke replied, buckling his harness. R2-D2 beeped cheerily from the corner of the cabin.

"Here we go again," C-3PO translated.

With that, Chewbacca guided the shuttle out of the hangar, lowered the wings, and pointed the nose of the shuttle in the direction of the Endor system.

"All right," Han warned, "Hang on!"

He engaged the hyperdrive, and the stars seemed to stretch out, transforming from tiny, glittering points of light to endless rays that enveloped the entire shuttle. Within seconds, the shuttle had accelerated past the speed of light, hurtling into the unknown and leaving the fleet far behind.


	11. Chapter 11

XI

Moff Jerjerrod stood silently beside Darth Vader, staring at the inner wall of the turbolift they rode together. It would take several minutes for them to reach their destination, and Jerjerrod had learned from experience that casual conversation was not in Vader's repertoire. Instead, he reminded himself of how fortunate he had been lately. He had attended the Emperor's arrival with his stomach tied up in knots, anticipating a harsh rebuke at the very least, but there had been none. There hadn't even been any executions or unexplained disappearances. In fact, after leaving the hangar, Jerjerrod had gone straight to his quarters, and enjoyed the most peaceful sleep he'd had in months. He'd later learned that Emperor Palpatine, along with the aging architects of his dictatorship—Sate Pestage, Sim Aloo, Janus Greejatus, Ars Dangor, and Kren Blista-Vanee—had sealed themselves in the uppermost levels of the battle station, and had not shown their faces in days. The only indications that they were still alive were the periodic comm transmissions from the Emperor's throne room, and that was where the turbolift was taking him now.

The turbolift rose all the way to the Death Star's highest point: an imposing metal spire in the center of its artificial "north pole." The spire tapered to a sharp point, like a giant sewing needle, and the only irregularities in its otherwise smooth surface were a series of cylindrical protrusions near its tip. There were four in all, positioned equidistant from one another like a compass rose. This was the Emperor's private tower, surrounded by rows of turbolaser batteries that would make short work of anything that penetrated the energy shield projected from the surface of Endor. Darth Vader had personally examined the specifications for those turbolasers, and he knew that they were deliberately built so that they could not be turned upon the tower itself. Their traverse was almost a full 360 degrees, but each turret had been milled with a quadanium alloy block that would prevent it from ever facing the Emperor directly. Vader knew better than to attempt to modify even a single one. Such a move would betray him long before he could bring his plans to fruition. Instead, he had formulated his plot around a weapon that was far easier to conceal—and he could sense that the time to execute that plot was almost upon him.

Vader didn't have to devote any effort to keeping his mind clear as the turbolift slowed to a stop. By now, he was so accustomed to doing it that he could tune out his conscious thoughts as easily as the sound of his own breathing. His inner monologue was replaced by the mental equivalent of a still pond, with an undisturbed surface as smooth as glass. The Force continued to supply him with feelings and images, which he could sense in the same way a submerged dianoga would sense its prey breaking the surface of the water to drink. He could feel the presence of two Imperial Royal Guards, cloaked in crimson and armed to the teeth, just outside the turbolift door. Beyond, he sensed the presence of his master, like a black hole hungrily consuming any light that passed too close. Two royal advisers—Sim Aloo and Janus Greejatus—stood near the edge of Palpatine's shapeless black mass, driven to complacency by decades of boot-licking. The primitive, predatory core of Vader's brain automatically labeled them as prey. If he chose to strike, they would curl up and freeze rather than fight or flee. They could be saved for last, if it came to that.

Vader extended his mental reach, the tentacles of the imaginary dianoga probing the muddy pond floor for any other hidden prey. The turbolift had already passed the remaining four Imperial Royal Guards, in their barracks at the base of the tower. They emitted a faint tremor of adrenal output that could only come from combat training, something that was more constant for them than eating or sleeping. Next, Vader sensed a trio of TIE fighters racing through the vacuum beyond the tower walls. In spite of the impenetrable deflector shield above them, it was not a pointless exercise. After their disastrous performance in the Anoat Asteroid Belt during their pursuit of the _Millennium Falcon_, Vader had revised their training regimen from the ground up. He had increased the mandatory flight time of every TIE pilot under his command, and enhanced the minimum requirements for air collision and obstacle avoidance training. The changes had been accepted with a surprisingly minimal amount of grumbling from the pilots. Maneuvering through the relatively narrow layer of space between the surface of the Death Star and its invisible energy shield had become a matter of bragging rights for them, something that helped to relieve tension and boredom during their seemingly endless space deployment.

Vader ignored the presence of the TIE fighters, along with the miniscule background tremors emitted by the millions of souls aboard the Death Star. To him, their cumulative presence in the Force was mere static, a supernatural form of white noise that could easily be disregarded. He reached even further with his mind, and as the turbolift door slid open, he felt something he had not expected. There was a ship drawing nearer to him, moving faster than the speed of light through the invisible dimension known as hyperspace. It was a tiny craft, and it was still far away, but he knew the Force had revealed it to him for a reason. That reason was a mystery for only an instant before the truth dawned on him. Vader felt a surge of adrenaline, and could suddenly hear his artificial heartbeat pounding in his ears. That ship, whatever and wherever it was, carried his son, Luke.

To Vader, the few seconds he spent contemplating this discovery were meaningless. He might have continued to stand still in the open turbolift even longer, had Jerjerrod not made a conspicuous sniffing noise. The discreet signal was all it took to remind him of his present duties. He pushed all thoughts of Luke aside and stepped out of the turbolift, passing the pair of Imperial Royal Guards flanking the door. They remained still as statues, but he could feel their eyes on his back, glaring at him with suspicion aroused by his momentary delay. He silently cursed himself for allowing his attention to be so obviously divided. He was so close to achieving his destiny, ever so close! He might have resigned himself to die if the Emperor had discovered his plot in the beginning, but to be found out and defeated on the precipice of victory would be unforgivable.

Jerjerrod felt an unusual amount of tension dissipate when Vader finally stepped forward. For a moment, he had worried that making any sort of noise would provoke a severe response, but it seemed Vader had simply taken the hint and moved on. _Humility_, Jerjerrod mused. _That's a new one_. He walked out onto a dimly lit catwalk, trailing Vader by just a few paces. He deliberately avoided looking over the railing at his side. He had already seen plenty of sheer drops while supervising his men, and had no desire to be reminded of those who had fallen to their deaths while trying to keep the grueling pace imposed on them by the Emperor. Their families had received automated condolences, but the Emperor placed no real value on their lives. _And why would he?_ Jerjerrod thought. _The Death Star is fully armed and operational. That's all he cares about. To him, the gaping holes in the superstructure are an afterthought. He'll just send more of my men out into the vacuum with shoddy old suits and air tanks that have been collecting dust since the Clone Wars._ He caught himself and dismissed that line of thinking, fearing it would show on his face and draw unwanted attention. He decided it would be better if Vader was the one in the spotlight, instead of him. He focused his gaze straight ahead, following Vader across the catwalk and up the unadorned metal staircase beyond.

At first, all Jerjerrod could see over the top of the staircase was the window at the far end of the throne room. It was enormous, built in a circular shape, with thick metal beams radiating out from the center like the rays of a sun. As his perspective changed with each upward step, the "sun" seemed to rise, revealing more and more of the endless void of space beyond. Like everything else in the throne room, the surface of the glass reflected nothing. It seemed the Emperor, much like a glitterstim addict, had no desire to look upon his own reflection, lest he be reminded of the side effects of his drug of choice. Jerjerrod continued up the staircase, and saw a black hood in front of that window, facing away from him. He recognized the hood, and found himself unable to look away. He took another step, and saw the black shoulders of the same hooded cloak, along with the top of the Emperor's gleaming, armored throne. Another step, and there was the body. Another, and he could see the hem of the cloak touching the floor. With the Emperor in full view, Jerjerrod could feel his nerves creeping up on him again. _Is the Emperor doing that somehow?_ _Or is it just me?_ He had a feeling it was the former, and struggled to avert his eyes and break the spell. He was able to look away only when he saw Vader stop within a few meters of the throne.

"What is thy bidding, my Master?" Vader asked.

The Emperor turned away from the window, and Jerjerrod fixed his gaze on Vader's back to avoid looking into those cold, yellow eyes. His next thought was to kneel, but he noticed Vader was still standing, and realized how foolish and dangerous it would be to make such a gesture when Vader had not. At least for now, it seemed the Emperor was far more concerned with strategy than etiquette and protocol.

"Send the fleet to the far side of Endor," Palpatine rasped, extending a chalk-white finger as he spoke. He stepped toward Vader slowly, putting only the slightest amount of pressure on his gnarled cane. Sim Aloo and Janus Greejatus remained out of the way, their hands clasped in front of them, following Palpatine only with their eyes. "There it will stay...until called for," he added.

"What of the reports of the Rebel fleet massing near Sullust?" Vader asked.

"It is of no concern," Palpatine assured him. "Soon the Rebellion will be crushed, and young Skywalker will be one of us."

Vader's helmet twitched almost imperceptibly at the mention of that name. Jerjerrod was intrigued, but said nothing.

"Our agents on Sullust estimate the number of Alliance ships in the hundreds," Vader warned, "and I sense that a small Rebel force is already on its way here."

"Yes, I know," Palpatine snapped. Jerjerrod's breath caught in his throat. He had never witnessed anyone question the Emperor, even indirectly. He found himself wondering where he could take refuge if the discussion escalated any further, and noticed Aloo and Greejatus exchanging worried glances with one another. Clearly, they were thinking the same thing. Luckily for all of them, however, Vader continued to speak with an even tone of voice.

"The boy is with them," he declared. Jerjerrod's eyebrows perked up. Vader and the Emperor were obviously referring to Luke Skywalker, the Rebel fugitive who had destroyed the first Death Star.

"Are you sure?" Palpatine asked incredulously.

"I have felt him, my Master," Vader promised.

"Strange that I have not," Palpatine growled, leaning forward with a predatory leer on his face. "I wonder if your feelings on this matter are clear, Lord Vader?"

"They are clear, my Master," Vader replied stoically.

"Then you must go out to the command ship, and wait for him," Palpatine ordered, narrowing his eyes as he stared into Vader's mask. "His compassion for you will be his undoing. He will come to you, and then you will bring him before me."

"As you wish," Vader said. He bowed at the waist, and turned to go back to the turbolift. Jerjerrod offered the Emperor a similar bow, and followed Vader out of the throne room. He wondered how anyone, especially a leader of the Rebel Alliance, could have "compassion" for a man like Darth Vader. _Perhaps it has something to do with that ancient Jedi religion_, Jerjerrod thought. _They believed in forgiving their enemies, didn't they? Well, unfortunately for that Skywalker bastard, the Empire does not. I hope he is foolish to come here. The Emperor will probably skin him alive, for what he did to the last Death Star. Ha! I can't think of anyone who deserves it more._

As the turbolift approached the level of the Death Star's equatorial trench, Vader resisted the urge to grab Jerjerrod by the throat and squeeze the life out of him. It had been a long time since Vader had taken a life, and Jerjerrod's thoughts toward Luke seemed like the perfect excuse. Nevertheless, he knew if he gave in to his anger now, he would have to explain himself to his master. Then, he would inevitably be tasked with finding a suitable replacement for the sanctimonious Moff, and he would be under dangerously close scrutiny until he did so. He chose instead to file Jerjerrod's offensive thoughts away, promising himself that he would settle accounts before he met his own end.

While Jerjerrod could not possibly have known Vader's murderous intent, he could sense the atmosphere in the turbolift had changed. Without saying a word, he stopped the turbolift early, and practically leapt out as soon as the door opened. He didn't care what level he had reached; all he knew was that his instincts were screaming at him to get away from Vader as quickly as possible. He straightened his tunic and marched away without looking back.

Hours later, the _Tydirium_ emerged from hyperspace over Endor. The Rebels had no chance to admire the beauty of the forest moon, for their attention was immediately drawn to the symbols of Imperial might above it. Directly ahead of them, just a few dozen kilometers away, was the Super Star Destroyer _Executor_, cutting its way across their path like a brightly lit sword. Two Imperial Star Destroyers traveled alongside the _Executor_, matching its speed. Beyond these three starships, the horizon was dominated by a man-made sphere the size of a small moon: the second Death Star. Even though it was obviously incomplete, it appeared even more fearsome than its predecessor. It might have been because it was substantially larger, or because the skeletal appearance of the superstructure made it look like the first Death Star had somehow pieced itself back together, and was truly indestructible. Perhaps it was because the dish-like shape of the superlaser seemed to be pointed directly at them, like the eye socket of a monstrous skull. Regardless, Chewbacca groaned with concern at the sight, but remained calm and kept the _Tydirium_ on course.

As the Rebels drew closer to the passing Imperial vessels, Chewbacca adjusted their path just enough to carry them over the _Executor_, so they would pass in front of its command tower without running the risk of a collision. He knew there the immense Super Star Destroyer would not change course, and any drastic maneuver from him would only arouse suspicion.

"If they don't go for this, we're gonna have to get out of here pretty quick, Chewie," Han warned. Chewbacca responded with an affirmative bark. Just then, there was a high-pitched sound from the comm, and the voice of the _Executor's_ traffic officer, Controller Jhoff, echoed through the cockpit.

"We have you on our screen now. Please identify," Jhoff asked. Han toggled the comm to reply.

"Shuttle _Tydirium_, requesting deactivation of the deflector shield," he said calmly. He looked back at Leia, who was making no attempt to hide her worried expression. Luke could sense the fear rolling off of his friends as the hull of the _Executor_ took up more and more of the cockpit window.

"Shuttle _Tydirium_, transmit the clearance code for shield passage," Jhoff replied. Chewbacca groaned again, and Han nodded at him before toggling the comm again.

"Transmission commencing," Han said, before taking his hand off the controls.

"Now we find out if that code is worth the price we paid," Leia muttered dryly.

Han looked back at her. "It'll work," he said confidently, before turning to face forward again. "It'll work," he repeated. Behind him, Luke spoke up for the first time since the shuttle emerged from hyperspace, his voice inexplicably full of dread.

"Vader's on that ship," Luke warned. R2-D2 emitted a low moan, which did nothing to improve the tense atmosphere.

"Now don't get jittery, Luke," Han cautioned. "There are a lot of command ships." He then nodded to Chewbacca. "Keep your distance, though, Chewie—but don't _look_ like you're trying to keep your distance."

Chewbacca turned to look at Han, and barked at him, clearly annoyed.

"I don't know!" Han cried. "Fly casual!"

As the Rebels struggled to keep their composure, Vader stood on the bridge of the _Executor_, watching the approach of the _Tydirium_ through a set of forward-facing trapezoidal windows. Since his return from the Death Star, he had done nothing but stand at those windows, watching the stars with anticipation. Now, the shuttle carrying his son was right in front of him, and he could feel that the time had come. _This is it_, he thought. _It is the only way_.

"Luke..." he called. "Luke..."

Aboard the _Tydirium_, Luke's eyes widened with horror. The last time he'd heard his father's voice so close, he was aboard the _Millennium Falcon_, fleeing Bespin with a stump for a hand. Hearing it so powerfully again, no longer faint and distant as it was on Tatooine, almost drove him to tears.

"He knows I'm here," he stammered.

"It's your imagination, kid," Han countered.

"No!" Luke nearly shouted. "He knows." He sighed, and shook his head with dismay. "I shouldn't have come...but it's too late now. I'm sorry."

Vader marched over to the terminal Jhoff was using to communicate with the _Tydirium_. Admiral Piett stood nearby, arms crossed in front of his chest, watching over Jhoff's shoulder to ensure adherence to regulations. When Piett noticed Vader approaching, he uncrossed his arms and straightened his posture.

"Admiral," Vader barked, "I want that shuttle intercepted immediately."

"Yes, my Lord," Piett replied without hesitation. He leaned over Jhoff's shoulder, and toggled the comm himself.

"Shuttle _Tydirium_," he began, "You are to proceed to Docking Bay Six for a routine inspection. Adjust your course without delay."

Upon hearing Admiral Piett's comm traffic, the Rebels knew their mission had failed.

"Chewie!" Han yelled. "Get us out of here!" Chewbacca barked his acknowledgment and lunged for the controls.

Luke jumped out of his seat and leaned past Han, putting his hand on the throttle. "Chewie, don't," he said firmly. Chewbacca roared at him, clearly unwilling to submit to Imperial custody without a fight.

"Sit down, Luke!" Han shouted. "They're not gonna take us alive."

"Han," Luke said firmly, "Let me handle this." In that moment, Han saw Luke in a different light. There was something in his voice that hadn't been there when they first met. This wasn't the boy who had pawed at the controls of the _Falcon_ after they fled the Mos Eisley Spaceport. This was a far more powerful man, with the command presence of a seasoned veteran. There was no longer any doubt in his mind—Luke really was a Jedi.

Luke could sense that Han finally trusted him, and went on. "Get in the back with the others," he ordered, "and stay out of sight."

Han looked back at Leia, and saw in her eyes that she was petrified with fear, but also that she trusted Luke to rescue them. The look in her eyes sealed his decision. "Come on, Chewie," he sighed reluctantly. The Wookiee let out a foreboding howl, and lumbered back into the passenger compartment with the droids. Han rose from his seat and followed, allowing Luke to take his place. He paused in the narrow doorway leading out of the cockpit, and heard the rattling, clicking sounds of blasters being loaded and function checked. The sentiment of his strike team was unanimous. They would die with their weapons in their hands, and they would take an entire legion of stormtroopers with them. A tiny smirk formed in the corner of Han's mouth. He knew he had picked the right men for the mission.

Leia rose from her seat to go with the man she loved, brushing her holstered blaster with her forearm to ensure it was still there. Before she could step away, Luke gently put his hand out to stop her.

"Leia, wait," he urged. She could sense that Luke had something important he desperately wanted to say, and quietly sat back down. Han paused at the rear of the cabin, and looked over his shoulder at both of them, both concerned and curious.

"I was waiting for the right time to tell you," Luke sighed, "but there is no more time."

"Tell me what?" Leia asked, confused.

"Just trust me," Luke said at last. "I promise I'll explain when it's over." With that, he leaned back in the pilot's chair, closed his eyes, and reached out with the Force.

"Father," he called out.

"Father?" Leia repeated incredulously.

"Wait, what's going on?" Han asked, clearly perturbed. Luke's eyelids fluttered at the distraction, and he breathed deeply to clear his mind.

"Father," he called again.

Aboard the _Executor_, Vader heard Luke's voice, and clenched his fists with excitement. _At last_, he thought. He moved away from Admiral Piett, and returned to the windows, where he would not be overheard.

"Luke," he replied.

"Meet me in the docking bay alone," Luke demanded, "and allow the shuttle to leave."

"You and your stolen craft are mine, my son," Vader replied ominously.

"Father, you asked me to join you," Luke continued. "You need my help. Do this, and I'll fight at your side. Refuse, and you'll be forced to kill me. Meet me alone, and let the shuttle go."

Vader's machines took several breaths for him as he pondered his son's bargain. This was exactly what he needed, exactly what he had been hoping for all this time...but a part of him wondered if he could afford to release a shuttle full of Luke's Rebel cohorts in exchange for Luke himself. It didn't take him long to decide. There would never be a better chance for his plot to succeed.

"It will be done," Vader announced. Certain that Luke heard him, he marched back to Admiral Piett, who was closely monitoring the _Tydirium's_ trajectory on the terminal.

"Admiral Piett," Vader commanded, "You may dismiss the boarding party. I will clear the shuttle myself."

Piett considered reminding Vader of Imperial Navy regulations, but quickly decided against it. "As you wish, my Lord," he replied dutifully.

Back aboard the _Tydirium_, Luke relaxed and opened his eyes. "He'll do it," he sighed with relief. Leia and Han gaped at him, their jaws hanging open in disbelief, then looked back at Luke. They immediately unleashed a barrage of questions, both attempting to speak over the other.

"Luke, did you just call him _father_?" Leia asked.

"What's going on? What just happened?" Han barked. Chewbacca leaned into the cockpit, growling with suspicion.

"It's true, Leia," Luke revealed, looking into her eyes as he spoke. "Vader is my father."

An expression of horror and disgust crossed Leia's face. "Your father?" she grimaced. Han looked down at her, but she didn't take her eyes off Luke. She could see from his grave expression that he was telling the truth.

"There's more," Luke continued. "It won't be easy for you to hear it, but you must. If I don't make it back, you're the only hope for the Alliance."

"Luke, don't talk that way!" Leia exclaimed. "You have a power I don't understand, and could never have!"

"You're wrong, Leia. You have that power, too. In time, you'll learn to use it, as I have." He looked away before continuing. He had known all along this would be the most difficult part of their conversation. "The Force is strong in my family. My father has it. I have it. My _sister_ has it."

Leia's heart skipped a beat as she realized what Luke meant. Tears welled up in her eyes as she pictured the man who had tortured her aboard the first Death Star as her own blood.

"No!" she practically screamed. Han's jaw dropped again as he glanced back and forth between Luke and Leia, flabbergasted.

"Luke, what the hell—?" he began. Luke kept his focus on Leia, struggling to calm her.

"It's true, Leia," he continued. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I couldn't let you hear it the way I did."

"What, so he told you? And you believe _him_?" Leia cried, desperately grasping at any excuse to treat the revelation as a lie.

"Not just him," Luke explained. "Obi-Wan knew about it, too. He kept us hidden all this time, to protect us both from the Emperor. He saved us, Leia."

"But why must you confront him?" Leia pleaded.

"When we fought on Cloud City," Luke replied, subconsciously looking down at his mechanical hand before making eye contact with Leia again, "he told me what he wants more than anything. He wants me to fight with him, to help him defeat the Emperor. And we can do it! We can do it, Leia. Once the Emperor is gone, I can save him. I can bring him back to the good side."

"Luke, no!" Leia argued. "It's a trick. You don't know him! You haven't been held by him. He'll torture you to get what he wants, Luke...and then he'll kill you."

"He won't kill me," Luke said confidently, without raising his voice, "He needs me. And we need him. We want the same thing."

"Luke," Han interjected with a skeptical tone. Leia cut him off.

"He'll destroy everything you love, right in front of you!" she warned. "Just like he did to me. Just like he did to Alderaan. He'll do it again."

"He won't," Luke argued quietly. The _Tydirium_ was almost to the docking bay now, and he could sense that their time was up. "Trust me," he concluded. "Just stay hidden...and remember the mission. I'll see you when it's over."

Leia jumped out of her seat and made her way to the passenger compartment, wiping tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand. Han put his arm over her shoulder to support her, and they stepped out of sight together.

Luke quietly piloted the _Tydirium_ through the magnetic seal that separated Docking Bay Six from the void of space, and guided the shuttle to a smooth stop. He toggled the control switch for the boarding ramp and stood. The entire hangar was visible before him, empty save for a solitary figure standing at the far end. The black helmet, cape, and armor were unmistakable. Vader was waiting for him, alone.

Luke removed his camouflage poncho and discarded it on the empty seat beside him. He tugged at the hem of his black tunic to straighten it, and bumped the hilt of his lightsaber with his arm to confirm its presence, just as his sister had done with her own weapon. He walked out of the cockpit, moving past his friends, the droids, and the strike team without making direct eye contact with any of them. They watched him go by in total silence, taking slow breaths and keeping their limbs pulled in close to their bodies to avoid exposing themselves to the light spilling in from the hangar. Luke walked down the ramp at a measured pace, and paused briefly at its edge. He looked down at his feet, then back up at Vader, who was watching him intently with his hands on his belt. Luke took a deep breath as he stepped off the ramp with one foot, then the other. _There_, he thought. _No turning back now_.

As soon as he was clear of the ramp, Luke pictured the shuttle's instrument panel in his mind's eye. He tapped into the Force, and visualized the switch that controlled the boarding ramp. With a single thought, he flipped the switch, and the ramp rose up and sealed shut behind him. With the shuttle secured, and all hope of retreat abandoned, he began walking across the hangar to meet his father.

As Luke began to walk forward, Vader did the same, taking his hands off his belt and striding confidently toward his long-lost offspring. They stopped in the middle of the hangar, facing each other. Luke stared up into the eyes of his father's mask, and struggled to perceive what was beyond the black lenses. He could see nothing with his eyes, but the Force supplied him with all he needed to see: the image of a burnt, scarred body, artificially kept alive as an instrument of the Emperor's will. Luke had only seen such an image once before, when he had discovered his Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru lying in the sand, their flesh blackened and smoldering. Luke suppressed the angry thoughts that accompanied the image, but could not hide his revulsion. He averted his eyes, and inhaled deeply through his nostrils.

"I trust you have not come here to fight," Vader began.

"Not with you," Luke replied. He spoke softly to ensure his voice would not carry to the hangar doors, and the stormtroopers that undoubtedly stood ready behind them. He slowly reached across his body, unfastened his lightsaber from his belt, and held it up with both hands. He pinched it with his fingertips, offering it to Vader with a relaxed, non-aggressive grip.

"So, you have constructed a new lightsaber," Vader mused. He reached out and wrapped his gloved hand around the weapon. Luke released it immediately, and took a half-step back so Vader could test its capabilities. Vader ignited the blade, and studied its brilliant, emerald-green glow.

"Your skills are complete," Vader complimented. "Indeed, you are powerful, as the Emperor has foreseen."

Luke nodded humbly. "I look forward to meeting him," he said, subtly reminding his father of the reason for their reunion. Vader could sense his son's sincerity, and recalled that for some reason—the will of the Force, perhaps—Luke was passively able to avoid detection by the Emperor. For a moment, he wished the same protection extended to him. How easily could he have restored order to the galaxy, if the Emperor could not sense his presence, or divine his thoughts?

Vader deactivated Luke's lightsaber and clipped it to his belt, next to his own. Luke patiently held his hands up in front of his chest, wrists together, in another token of surrender. Vader reached out and grabbed Luke's right wrist, holding it up to examine his artificial hand. Luke offered no resistance.

"This fight will be far more challenging than our last," Vader warned. With his left hand, he retrieved a pair of binders from his belt, and snapped them over Luke's wrists. The binders locked into place with a quiet clicking noise. "We will continue this discussion in private," Vader continued, turning his body out of Luke's path. Luke stepped forward, and paused.

"And our agreement?" he asked, his voice practically a whisper.

"We must both have faith if we are to succeed," Vader replied. Luke nodded respectfully, and continued across the hangar, with Vader falling into place behind him. When they reached the edge of the hangar, the blast doors slid open automatically. Behind them stood a full squad of stormtroopers, carrying blasters at port arms, and a uniformed gantry officer. From the rank insignia on his chest, the gantry officer appeared to be a lieutenant. As they passed, Vader stopped in front of him, who immediately straightened his posture out of fear and respect.

"Lieutenant," Vader said, loud enough for Luke to hear. "That shuttle is to be discarded immediately."

"My Lord?" the lieutenant questioned. "We would have no further use of it?"

"It was stolen by the Rebel Alliance," Vader growled, "and has no doubt been tampered with. I will not allow a sabotaged ship back into the Empire's service, nor will I risk our demolitions experts disarming the traps on board. Clear the docking bay, and jettison that ship!"

"Right away, my Lord!" the lieutenant replied.

Vader continued walking without another word. Luke followed obediently, having seen that his father would keep his word. He could still sense the presence of Leia and the others, even after the blast doors closed behind him. He concentrated on them and their surroundings, and felt the magnetic seal to the docking bay disengage. A crane lowered from the ceiling of the hangar, and gripped the _Tydirium_ by its upper stabilizer. Luke felt his companions lurch as the shuttle was lifted off the hangar floor, almost as if he was still aboard with them. Seconds later, he felt the shuttle drop toward the surface of Endor, and breathed a sigh of relief. His friends were safe.

Luke relaxed, breaking his mental link to the _Tydirium_, and concentrated on his father. He sensed that Vader was taking him to his private quarters, where they would not be disturbed. There, they would do what no other dared: they would plot the assassination of Emperor Palpatine. Luke realized that his destiny was upon him, and put his trust in the Force as he had done countless times before. As he cleared his mind, making himself more receptive to its will, Vader's words from a year ago echoed in his ears. _There is no escape. Don't let yourself be destroyed, as Obi-Wan did_. Those words had frightened him before. Now, they gave him confidence. He had no desire to escape. From here, there would be only victory, or death.


	12. Chapter 12

XII

Han took Leia's hand in his own as the _Tydirium_ fell away from the _Executor_. Although his face didn't show it, he was worried about Luke's chances. Leia squeezed his fingers until her knuckles were white, and he could tell the stress affected her even more deeply. It wasn't as if he could blame her. The Empire had just taken a brother she never knew she had. A part of him accepted that there was nothing he could say to soothe her, but another part of him felt compelled to try.

"I'm sure Luke is going to make it out of there," he offered sympathetically. Leia stared at the far wall of the cabin, as if she was listening to another voice from far away.

"He will," she replied confidently. "I can feel it." For a moment, Han wondered if she really was hearing things, that she might be driving herself mad in an attempt to cope with her grief. Then, she turned and looked at him, and he could see the calm determination in her eyes. It was her warrior spirit, nothing more—a trait they shared, something they found both frustrating and beautiful in each other. Han felt her relax her vise-like grip, and breathed a sigh of relief. She looked down at their clasped hands, and smiled as she realized how surreal the past few minutes had been. She wanted to talk to him, to vent her frustrations and fears, but she knew this was no time for sympathy. They had a far more important priority now: their own survival.

Han took another deep breath of cool, stale air, and contemplated their predicament. Luckily for all of them, the shuttle's basic life support functions and artificial gravity remained active by default. However, the engines and all other on-board electronics were still shut down. As a result, the passenger compartment was almost completely dark, illuminated only by the light streaming in through the cockpit window. The light moved across the wall at the stern of the compartment, reminding Han that the shuttle was still falling. If he didn't act soon, the gravitational pull of the moon would seal their fate.

"I think we've been sitting here long enough," Han said. He decided to take a chance, peeking around the bulkhead to look out of the cockpit window. From his point of view, there was only space above him, and the seemingly endless horizon of Endor below. The _Executor_ was already a long way off, a distant dagger in the void. Han gulped apprehensively as he turned his attention to the moon rising inexorably toward him. Although the movement seemed gradual from such a great distance, he had captained a starship long enough to know the truth. The _Tydirium_ was dropping toward Endor like a sinking stone.

"Chewie!" he shouted. "Come on!"

He rushed up to his chair, using his arms to pull himself forward, and hastily brushed Luke's poncho out of his seat. As he did so, a member of his strike team called out to him.

"Sir!" The voice belonged to Major Bren Derlin, a Hoth veteran who had assisted Han with selecting the other members of the team. "We're not out of scanner range yet. If we fire up the engines now, they'll pick us up and blast us out of the sky."

By now, Chewbacca had made his way into the cockpit. He sat down next to Han and grunted at him, awaiting his decision.

"It's a chance we'll have to take," Han argued.

"Han, he's right," Leia piped up, taking her seat behind Chewbacca. "Luke had us hide for a reason. He won't be able to help us again."

"We're in an uncontrolled descent!" Han pointed out. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to be cremated until _after_ I'm dead!" Chewbacca trilled in agreement. By this time, the looming surface of the moon took up almost their entire field of view. As Leia struggled to think of a viable alternative that would keep them alive and out of the Empire's hands, R2-D2 emitted a series of squeaks and whistles.

"General Solo!" C-3PO exclaimed. "Artoo says his scanners can detect when we reach the outer limit of the Empire's signal strength, plus or minus 100 meters. He will alert us as soon as the engines can be safely reignited."

"Now that's more like it," Han declared. "Chewie!" Chewbacca grunted and rested his shaggy paw on the instrument panel in front of him. "Wait for the beep," he added with a smirk, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the astromech droid.

The Rebels waited apprehensively as the _Tydirium_ continued to fall. Within moments, the entire shuttle began to vibrate and shake. Major Derlin and the rest of the strike team maintained their composure, either staring straight ahead or closing their eyes peacefully. They knew there was nothing they could do to change their fate, one way or the other. Chewbacca kept his paw braced against the instrument panel, within easy reach of the ignition switch, and cocked his head to listen for R2-D2's signal. Seconds later, brilliant streaks of yellow and orange flickered around the hull of the _Tydirium_, and the craft began to rock violently. Atmospheric friction was beginning to take its toll on the disabled ship.

"We're getting warmer," Han grumbled anxiously. Just then, R2-D2 emitted a high-pitched squeal. Chewbacca slapped the controls, and the shuttle's engines roared to life. Han squinted his eyes at the distant _Executor_ as if he expected it to unleash a barrage of turbolaser fire at any moment. When nothing happened, he shifted his gaze down to the blinking lights and gauges in front of him.

"Main drive unit is up and running," he reported, "and we're not being shot at. Chewie, get on those thrusters. We're still dropping fast."

Chewbacca barked affirmatively, and grabbed the controls as Han had ordered. He diverted as much power as he could to control their descent, but the effect was negligible. The shuttle continued to shake, and flames were still streaking across the hull. Before the Wookiee could take any further action, there was a muffled _boom_ from outside, and the nose of the shuttle dipped further toward the surface of Endor.

"Enemy fire?" Leia asked, fear creeping into her voice. Han studied the control panel again, and his eyes widened as he saw what had happened.

"Stabilizer's out," he snapped, fighting to keep his nerves under control. The turbulence was more violent than ever now, and he knew they had only seconds before they passed the point of no return. Chewbacca lowered the shuttle's wings to gain more control, ignoring the muffled popping sounds as tiny fragments of metal were torn from them. The _Tydirium_ was not built for this type of descent, and it hadn't exactly been in mint condition when the Rebels stole it in the first place. Even so, Chewbacca refused to give up hope. He flexed his sinewy arms, and pulled on the control stick as much as he could without snapping it. With the wings lowered, he had just enough leverage to right the shuttle. The flames lapping at the exterior began to dissipate, and the view through the cockpit window became clearer. Soon, the Rebels could see a blue sky in place of the black, starry void, and a thick, green forest below.

The _Tydirium _listed to one side as it rocketed through Endor's atmosphere, leaving a thick, smoky contrail behind it as it went. Chewbacca kept his tight grip on the controls, doing his best to mitigate the turbulence and keep the shuttle upright. Han and Leia monitored the controls without speaking a word, trusting that their Wookiee companion would be able to make the landing. Chewbacca, too, remained silent, focusing all his effort on absorbing the feedback from the controls. As the shuttle continued to drop, the thick forest below them came into focus. Han looked for a path that would allow them to avoid crashing into the trees, and was relieved to see an open field in front of them.

"Clearing ahead," he announced. "Everybody hold on!"

The Rebels braced themselves as Chewbacca put every last ounce of power into the thrusters, lifting the nose of the shuttle at the last possible moment. The keel touched ground first, near the center of the grassy clearing Han had spotted. The Rebels surged forward against their harnesses, then back into their seats. Even Chewbacca could not resist the tremendous force of impact. He felt the pressure on his waist and rib cage, and almost lost his grip on the controls. Although he held fast, there was nothing he could do now. The ground scraped at the _Tydirium _mercilessly, shearing its lower wings away. Han scanned for obstacles in their path, he thought he saw something directly in front of them—something like a giant, brown boulder. Before he could identify it, there was a great _thump_, and thousands of tiny spiderweb cracks shot across the window, reducing his visibility to zero. He clutched his harness tightly, wishing silently that no matter what happened, Leia would come through it unharmed.

Once the shock of the impact subsided, Han blinked rapidly and looked around in all directions. The cabin was quiet now, and it was just as dark as it had been when they were first jettisoned from the _Executor_. His pulse was pounding in his temples, and he felt like his head was being split in two. He flexed his fingers and toes, checking himself for injuries, and felt nothing beyond a few minor bumps and bruises. Thankfully, his harness had done its job. He was exhausted from the effects of adrenaline, but he was still in fighting shape.

After allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness for a moment, Han saw natural light filtering into the cockpit from behind him. He could just make out the instrument panel in front of him, and the cockpit window above it. The window was covered in spiderweb cracks, as he remembered, but it was still strong enough to hold back the dirt that had piled up on it and turned it into an opaque wall. Somehow, the sight of these things only made his headache worse. He suddenly remembered an obscure survival tip, something he had been taught when he was just a boy. He spit at the panel in front of him, and saw the tiny droplets of saliva fall away to his left, not straight down. In that moment, he knew the shuttle must have tilted up on its port side when it came to rest. Armed with this knowledge, Han shifted his body weight away from the direction he now recognized as "down," and braced himself so he could unbuckle his harness without falling. Once he was free from his seat, he stumbled to his feet, and looked around for Leia and Chewbacca. They, too, were unbuckling and checking themselves and each other for injuries. Leia looked up, making eye contact with him, and gave him a reassuring smile. He smiled back, overjoyed to see that his wish had been granted.

"General Solo!" C-3PO cried. "I say, General Solo! Please, help!" The protocol droid was flailing his arms uselessly, unable to extricate himself from his own harness. R2-D2 chortled and beeped, clearly making fun of his counterpart. Han merely rolled his eyes.

"I'll take care of him," Leia said sympathetically. "Go check on the team."

Han smiled gratefully, and clambered over the bulkhead at the rear of the cockpit. As he stepped into the passenger compartment, he nearly tripped over the boarding ramp, which was bent upward as though someone outside had taken a battering ram to it. _No getting out that way_, he thought. After passing the remains of the ramp, his eyes were drawn to a gaping hole in the port side of the hull, extending from floor to ceiling where the wing had once been. Daylight seeped in from beyond, allowing Han to look over his men. They were already out of their seats, rolling their heads from side to side, flexing their shoulders forward and back, and checking their weapons and equipment. There was some quiet grumbling, but no cries of pain or "man down!" Han nodded with satisfaction.

"Sound off!" he barked. One by one, his men answered him. There were over a dozen commandos in all, and miraculously, not one was in need of medical attention. With the entire strike team accounted for, Han stepped forward to figure out how they would get out of the ruined shuttle. The boarding ramp was obviously not an option, not with the ground directly beneath it, but the opening in the port side was another story. They would have to be cautious to avoid cutting themselves on the jagged metal edges, but Han could see that it was large enough for them to squeeze out one by one.

"Well?" he began. "Who's going first?"

"I am, sir," called Sergeant Bruckman. Like Han, he was a native of Corellia, and he had already volunteered to take point after their briefing aboard the _Home One_. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, bladed his body so he could step past Han, and carefully slunk through the hole in the cabin.

"Someone better cover him out there," said Sergeant Carlson, an older male with decades of experience as a scout. Despite his choice of words, he was not expecting anyone else to volunteer. He was already moving as he spoke, and just as soon as his body blocked the light, it was gone. Han decided to set an example for the rest of his men.

"Chewie," he called, "We're up."

Han made it out of the _Tydirium_ with ease, then turned back to make sure Chewbacca could do the same. It was difficult, but the Wookiee was able to contort himself just enough to get through the hole without snagging or cutting himself. As soon as they were both on solid ground, they stretched, allowed their eyes to adjust to the sunlight, and examined their surroundings. They stood in the middle of a huge, flat field, with long grass and other foliage that grew past their knees. The field was ringed by a thick forest of giant redwood trees, which grew impossibly tall, stretching up toward a clear, blue sky. Were it not for their mission, the moon would have been ideal as a hideout, or even a vacation destination. Under the circumstances, though, there was no time to relax. Han spotted Bruckman and Carlson, and saw that both of them were watching the treeline for any signs of danger. He took a few more steps out into the field, and turned back to survey the wreckage. He snorted in disbelief and shook his head as he took in the sight. The _Tydirium_ was indeed resting on its port side, and what remained of the crumpled hull was scarred with burn marks. Its nose and cockpit were buried in the earth, and a wide trench had been carved into the ground behind it by the force of the impact. Smoke billowed out from the engines and stabilizer system, leaving a conspicuous stream that could be seen from kilometers away.

"Not bad, Chewie," Han complimented, nodding toward the wreckage. "All things considered...I can't complain." Chewie gruffly thanked his friend in his native language. Han started walking back toward the shuttle to help the others. Before he reached it, Leia stepped out on her own, followed by the rest of the strike team. Han nodded to them, and looked up at the trail of smoke in the sky once more.

"We'd better get moving," he urged them. "We're a long way from the shield generator, and this place will be crawling with Imperials in no time."

Leia and the others followed Han as he walked along the trough of thick, dark soil that had been plowed up by the _Tydirium_ during its crash landing. He could see something lying on the ground, about halfway between them and the end of the trench. From a distance, he recognized it as the boulder they had hit just before the cockpit window was destroyed, but there was something unusual about it. He glanced at Bruckman and Carlson again, and verified that they were still covering him. They were, of course, and the rest of the strike team had begun to fan out with them, providing him with a heavily-armed perimeter. He walked over to get a closer look, and saw that the object was no boulder—it was the carcass of an animal.

"Aw..." Leia groaned, expressing both pity and disgust. "What was it?"

The remains had been horribly mangled by the collision with the shuttle, but they were still able to infer what the creature might have been. It was an enormous quadruped that would have once stood over three meters tall at the shoulder. It was lying on its side, with its limbs facing Han and Leia. Its head and neck were twisted away from them, concealed by the bulk of its sinewy shoulders and a coarse mane of dark, bristly fur. Where the mane ended, the body was covered with brown, leathery skin, ruptured here and there by the sudden pressure of the impact. Its limbs ended in giant, wolf-like paws, each tipped with four long, menacing claws.

"Whatever it was, it was domesticated," Han offered. "Look at this." He stood a short distance away, and pointed at the unfortunate brute's forelimbs. There was a scar on the inside of each limb, near the wrist joint, too straight and symmetrical to have occurred naturally.

"It's had its dewclaws removed," Han pointed out.

"And look!" Major Derlin called. He had maneuvered around to the other side of the carcass, and was pointing at the creature's head and neck. Han and Leia stepped over to him carefully, so they wouldn't slip in the puddles of thick, red blood on the ground. Already, the blood was beginning to dry, forming a gelatinous skin, and clouds of flies had emerged from the surrounding foliage to feed and lay their eggs in the fertile sludge. Leia grimaced at the sight, and found no relief when she reached Derlin's position. Once there, she saw that the massive beast had the head of a canine, with a long, narrow snout and a set of sharp teeth perfectly suited to an apex predator. The most fearsome of these were a pair of incisors the length of Leia's forearm, which curved out around the snout like the tusks of a boar. She shuddered as she imagined the damage the animal could have inflicted while it was alive, and shifted her gaze to its thick, sinewy neck. There, she saw what Derlin was pointing out: a crudely fashioned collar nestled into its mane. The collar was made of sinew and leather, woven into a braid-like pattern, and there were at least a half-dozen large, decorative objects dangling from it. They were smooth and white, like eggshells, with tiny hairline cracks running across each one. Leia's stomach dropped when she peered at them closely. They were skulls. Even worse, they had the shape of hominid skulls, with forward-facing eye sockets, a tiny nasal cavity, and pronounced rodent-like teeth. Each was no larger than the skull of a human child, and Leia found herself wondering if the poor specimens had even been fully grown when they were killed. _This isn't just a collar_, she thought as she eyed the primitive stone arrowheads and spear points interspersed between the skulls. _It's a trophy necklace_.

"Let's go," Han ordered. "Whatever this thing was, I don't want to be here when its owner comes looking for it." The Rebels needed no further encouragement. They stepped away from the carcass, rubbing their boots into the soil to remove as much of the animal's blood as possible. They would be more than happy to let the scavengers of Endor gorge themselves while they continued to their objective. Before they could move any further, a shrill, high-pitched voice resounded across the clearing.

"General Solo!" the voice shouted. Han rolled his eyes.

"Threepio," he grumbled, turning to Leia. "I thought you got him."

"I helped him out of his seat," Leia sighed, clearly exasperated with the needy protocol droid. "I didn't realize he wouldn't be able to get out of the shuttle by himself."

Han took a deep breath, reminding himself that getting angry would only distract from the mission. "I'll deal with this," he said at last. "I don't know why we even brought the droids, anyway."

Han slipped back into the _Tydirium_ again, while Chewbacca remained outside. Working together, they were able to extricate the droids relatively easily, with Han pushing from inside the shuttle, and Chewbacca reaching in to pull with his enormous arms.

"Oh! Thank you, Chewbacca," C-3PO said, as soon as the Wookiee had set him on level ground. Chewbacca grumbled and walked away, clearly uninterested in conversing with the droid. R2-D2 followed, rolling across the field without any visible difficulty. Han climbed out of the _Tydirium_ for what he hoped would be the last time, and tossed Luke's discarded camouflage poncho to C-3PO as he passed. It hit the droid awkwardly in the face, as he did not possess the reflexes to catch it.

"Put that on, goldenrod, before you give away our position." Han growled. "This whole party will be for nothing if they see us."

While C-3PO struggled to drape the poncho over his reflective chassis, Major Derlin stepped toward Han.

"What about the astromech, sir?" Derlin asked.

"Artoo?" Han looked at their surroundings, and saw that the leafy foliage nearly rose to the height of R2-D2's domed head. "If they see him through all this, they're already too close."

Derlin nodded. "Copy that, sir. We'll see them before they see us."

As he finished speaking, there was a loud _twang_, and a red blaster bolt struck the dirt at their feet.

"Cover!" Derlin shouted, instinctively dropping down to a kneeling position. Han drew his blaster from its holster without conscious thought, and scanned the treeline on the far side of the clearing. He crouched down with the rest of the strike team, waiting for any sign that would help identify the source of the shot. _Twang!_ There was another shot, another narrow miss.

"Over there!" Han shouted. Lieutenant Greeve and Corporal Janse, the two finest sharpshooters on the team, swung the muzzles of their rifles toward the hidden attacker. Chewbacca joined them, unslinging his bowcaster and raising it to a low ready position. As he scanned the treeline, Chewbacca glimpsed the white helmet of an Imperial scout trooper, and barked as he raised his bowcaster. The helmet disappeared behind the trunk of a mature redwood before Chewbacca could fire, but thanks to his warning, the entire strike team had focused on the threat. They kept their aim steady, confident that when the scout trooper showed himself again, they would give him a nasty surprise. As it turned out, however, the scout had one more surprise left in him. When he emerged from behind the tree trunk, he was rapidly accelerating away from them on a speeder bike.

Chewbacca roared with frustration as the mechanical howl of the speeder bike engine reached his ears. He took aim at the trooper's back, steadied himself, and fired. There was no speed that could save the trooper from his fate. The bolt punched through the white armor between his shoulder blades, piercing his spine and heart in an instant. His body slumped forward and fell off the speeder bike, crashing into the foliage below. The bike itself coasted to a stop just a few meters away.

"Oh!" C-3PO complained to R2-D2. "I told you it was dangerous here!"

The Rebels stood, gripping their weapons tightly and scanning the treeline for any additional threats. When they saw nothing, they advanced to check the scout trooper's body. Thanks to his white armor, it was easy to spot him in the undergrowth. Chewbacca knelt down, and confirmed the scout was dead. He bellowed victoriously as he stood, but went quiet when he saw Leia staring past him with a look of shock on her face.

"Over there!" Leia shouted, pointing over his shoulder. "Two more of them!"

Han and Chewbacca looked, and saw a fresh pair of scout troopers speeding away from them on speeder bikes. They raised their weapons simultaneously, but these two were more cunning than their ill-fated partner, and quickly swerved to put a row of trees between them and the line of fire.

"I see them!" Han acknowledged. He then noticed Leia was sprinting toward the abandoned speeder bike to pursue them. "Wait! Leia!" he shouted, before running after her. He wasn't about to let her take on two Imperial scout troopers by herself. By the time he caught up to her, she was already straddling the bike and pressing on the accelerator. He barely had time to jump onto the seat behind her and put his hands around her waist before they sped off, howling through the forest in pursuit of the enemy.


	13. Chapter 13

XIII

Leia pushed the speeder bike to its limit, ignoring the anguished howling of the engine. Her ears were ringing from the high-pitched noise, and she had to blink tears out of her eyes as the wind whipped at her face, but she had no time to worry about such minor discomfort. If she didn't catch up to the fleeing scout troopers, the Rebel Alliance would be done for—and if she didn't pay attention, her speed was going to get her killed.

Leia narrowed her eyes to reduce the stinging sensation from the wind. She focused on the most distant point of the trail in front of her, giving herself as much time as possible to avoid obstacles. In her peripheral vision, she could see rows of trees on both sides. It was impossible to focus on them individually; she saw nothing but a blur of green and brown as she flew between them. Every few seconds, she saw a mess of vines, a fallen tree, or some other obstacle in her path, and smoothly pressed the handlebars in one direction or another to avoid it. It was nerve-wracking, as she knew there would be no chance of surviving a collision, but she trusted her instincts. Although she couldn't explain it, she felt a strange mental clarity that guided her hands in the right direction before she consciously perceived the need to move them. She was reminded of what Luke told her about the power they shared, and wondered if it was the Force she was feeling. She reached out with her mind, focusing on the trail ahead, and sensed that they were closing in on the scout troopers. As soon as she passed the next bend in the trail, she saw them. They were still together, riding side-by-side, and they seemed oblivious to the fact that they were being followed.

"I'm gonna jam their commlinks," Han advised, reaching under her arm and toggling a switch on the instrument panel. Fortunately for them, the speeder bikes used a two-switch system for their communications. The first switch opened the channel for the appropriate unit, preventing others from talking over him. The second switch could be set to push-to-talk, allowing the unit to transmit only when the control was toggled by hand, or could be left completely open. Ordinarily, this system enabled the scouts to communicate hands-free, reporting to base without taking their hands off the controls. This feature was said to be useful for a scout traveling at breakneck speeds, where a moment of divided attention could be fatal. In this case, however, it worked to the Rebels' advantage. All they had to do was leave the first switch open, and the comm channel remained completely blocked. The scouts would be unable to request backup, and their base would hear silence on the channel and be oblivious to their plight. Unfortunately, one of the scouts must have attempted to make a transmission, and realized he could not get through. Before Leia could get within shooting distance, he glanced over his shoulder and spotted her. He pulled back on the throttle to slow his speeder bike down, allowing his partner to continue on without him. As Leia drew closer, he veered into her path in an attempt to ram her bike with his own. She swerved to avoid the collision, and something in her subconscious mind alerted her to a giant redwood tree in front of her. The scout trooper had seen it just moments before, and had been trying to force her into it. She turned her handlebars even further to steer around the other side of the tree, and came back around to her original course, anger coursing through her veins.

"Can you get alongside him?" Han asked. Leia nodded her head and pressed down on the accelerator, determined to catch up to the scout again. The scout glanced back and saw her closing in on him, and tilted his bike to ram her again. This time, both Han and Leia anticipated the move. She canted her speeder bike slightly to avoid being pushed off course, and the bikes made contact with each other, the _clang_ of metal barely audible over their screaming engines. As soon as the bikes touched, Han leapt off of the seat behind Leia, and straddled the other bike, positioning himself behind the scout trooper. Before the trooper could react, Han wrapped his left hand around his torso, and drew his blaster pistol with his right. Han pressed his muzzle into the right side of the trooper's neck, where the black body glove between his helmet and chest armor was exposed, and fired a single contact shot. The trooper's head jerked, and his body slumped forward like a rag doll. Han wasted no time holstering his pistol and shoving the lifeless body off the side of the bike. Once the seat in front of him was clear, he shimmied forward, took the controls, and pressed on the accelerator to get himself back into the fight.

Leia glanced over at Han just long enough to see him taking control of the second speeder bike. She was still mindful of her surroundings, and did not allow herself to be distracted for long. There was still one scout ahead of them, and they could not allow him to escape. Han managed to pull ahead, and once he was close enough, he fired the blaster cannon mounted to the underside of his speeder bike. The bolt struck one of the trooper's thrust panels, but it wasn't enough to stop him. He was still airborne, and began weaving back and forth as much as the narrow forest trail would allow. Han fired again, but the bolt went wide, disappearing into the trees. Han cursed and pulled alongside Leia to get her attention. He signaled with his hand, indicating for her to position herself on one side of the trooper while he crept up on the other. They were able to close the distance quickly, as the trooper continued weaving while they flew in a straight line. The trooper startled as Han and Leia pinched his speeder bike between theirs, and he tugged on the handlebars in a futile attempt to change course. Han sat upright and made eye contact with Leia over the trooper's forward-leaning body. He nodded in the direction of an unusually massive redwood ahead of them, slightly off to one side of their path. She immediately understood his intent, and they adjusted their steering at the same time, keeping the trooper pinned between them as they veered toward the tree trunk. The trooper continued to tug on his handlebars, but he was unable to resist the bikes on either side of him. He threw his body weight from one side to the other to try to tilt his bike, but it was useless. Han and Leia had him trapped. Out of desperation, the scout reached down and fumbled for his blaster pistol, but under stress, he was unable to defeat the retention device on his holster. As he struggled to draw the pistol without success, Han and Leia peeled away. He looked up just in time to see a wall of tree bark in his visor. There was a flash of light, and then he saw nothing at all.

As the echo of the explosion faded behind them, Han and Leia looped back around to confirm the kill. They slowed when they reached the giant redwood, and Han nodded approvingly at the smoldering remains of the trooper's speeder bike. The body was nowhere to be found. A thick splatter of blood on the tree bark was the only evidence the bike even had a rider at all.

"He's toast," Han said, pointing out the obvious. Leia nodded.

"Let's head back," she suggested. As soon as she spoke, another blaster bolt tore through the air, passing within a meter of her head and striking the tree behind her. She turned in the direction of the incoming fire, and saw two more scout troopers bearing down on them at full speed. Both troopers fired again, the cascade of their blaster bolts tracing a line toward her as their speeder bikes closed the distance.

"Take cover!" Han shouted, turning his bike around. Leia turned in the opposite direction, meeting him on the other side of the giant tree, where the blaster bolts could not reach them. The troopers sped past the tree, still traveling too fast to engage Han and Leia directly. When they realized they had missed their targets, they turned their speeder bikes in a wide arc, and began howling back to engage the Rebels again.

"Take off!" Han shouted, pointing. "Go that way!"

Leia nodded and sped away in the direction Han had indicated. Han maneuvered his bike so it would follow roughly the same path, while keeping them separated only slightly. As he moved, he drew his blaster and fired at the scout trooper closest to him. He was not surprised that he missed, given the speed and distance involved, but he was pleased to see the diversion worked. As he holstered his blaster, the closest scout bore down on him, while the other predictably went after Leia. _Good_, he thought to himself. _One on one. Now it's almost a fair fight_. He accelerated as quickly as he could, trailing only a few hundred meters behind Leia as the scout trooper he had targeted crept up on his left side. The cannon underneath his speeder bike faced forward, so he had no choice but to draw his blaster from his hip once more. The trooper did the same, drawing his blaster pistol with the lightning speed that came with regular practice. He was not rattled, as the last scout had been, and he had the advantage, being on Han's left. Han had to cross his blaster over his body to fire, whereas the trooper merely had to extend his arm and lock out his elbow. Han squeezed the trigger twice, and both shots went past the trooper's head. He took a deep breath and concentrated for the third shot. This time, he was able to align his scope exactly where he wanted it. He had the trooper's armpit in his crosshairs, so even if he missed by a few centimeters, he would still penetrate both lungs and the heart. He squeezed the trigger, and a tree passed between them, catching the bolt that would have taken the trooper out of the fight. Han cursed and looked forward again, making sure his path was clear. When he turned to look at the trooper again, he was looking down the barrel of a blaster. Han's eyes bulged with terror as he recognized that he had no time to react. Luckily for him, he didn't have to. The trooper still had his arm fully extended when another tree passed just a bit too close and struck it. His white armor, and the bones it protected, were pulverized by the high-speed impact. He twisted in his seat and slipped off the speeder bike, rolling to a stop on the forest floor. Han watched with satisfaction as the riderless bike veered into yet another giant redwood a few meters ahead, and exploded in a cloud of sparks and flame.

Han brought his bike around, and easily found the white-armored scout trooper. Blood was pooling on the ground beneath the trooper's body, hemorrhaging from his mangled right arm. Han pulled up alongside him and stopped his bike. He could hear the groans of pain emanating through the scout's helmet, and he knew there was only one thing left for him to do. He aimed his blaster pistol at the center of the scout's visor, and pulled the trigger. There was a flash of red light, and then there was one less witness to report the Rebels' presence on Endor.

As the _twang_ of Han's blaster shot reverberated through the leafy foliage, Leia raced ahead, doing everything she could to shake the last remaining scout trooper off of her tail. He was bearing down on her aggressively, firing his blaster cannon almost to the point of overheating. Leia knew she was vulnerable, but so far, she had been able to keep herself out of his point of aim. She zig-zagged between the trees to keep him from drawing a bead on her, and scanned the horizon for a way to turn the tables. She could see a fork in the trail ahead, where the trees were slightly more spread out to one side. She pulled back on the throttle and pointed her steering vanes toward it. The scout trooper failed to anticipate her maneuver, and sped past her. She turned her speeder bike around to face him, while he did the same in order to face her. They raced headlong toward one another with only a few hundred meters of open ground between them. They each fired a shot from their blaster cannons, but both of them missed. Leia felt the heat of the enemy's bolt as it zipped past her face, and pressed on the accelerator with all her might. She leaned forward aggressively over the controls and kept her speeder bike pointed directly at his, like a rudimentary guided missile. If she was hit, she intended to take him with her. The trooper saw what she intended to do, and sped up as well, confident she would veer off before they collided. The trooper smiled beneath his helmet as the speeder bikes approached the point of no return. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of movement. Before he could turn to look, the front of Han's speeder bike slammed into his chest, piercing his armor and tearing him out of his seat.

Han's body lurched forward when his bike struck the last scout trooper. He kept a tight grip on the handlebars and let up on the accelerator to keep from flying over the front end. Once he was properly seated again, he looked back to make sure it was over. The trooper's speeder bike was no more, having crashed into a tree stump after its rider was impaled. The body had been flung into the bushes by the force of the impact, where it would lie until the scavengers of the forest emerged to pick at it. Han checked his speeder bike, and saw that the directional steering vanes on the front end were bent inward, but not badly. The steering would be a little sluggish, but he could still fly.

He saw Leia turning her bike around to come back to him, and although she appeared tiny from so far away, he could see her throwing a triumphant fist in the air. He smiled, and flew off to meet her, not wanting to be away from her for another moment. They stopped together several hundred meters from where the battle had ended, and dismounted at the same time. Han sauntered over to her, a confident grin on his face. He was giddy from victory, and the adrenaline coursing through his body made him stagger like a drunk. He stepped in close and kissed her, closing his eyes and pushing away all other thoughts. She returned the kiss with equal passion, only breaking away after what felt like several minutes. She looked up at him, an expression of pure love in her eyes, then burst out laughing.

"What?" he asked, confused. She did not respond with words. She merely reached up with her hands and ran them across the top of his head, smoothing out his hair. After speeding through the forest for so long, it was sticking up in all directions. He smiled at her again, imagining how odd he must have looked. As their giddiness wore off, and their perception of time returned to normal, Leia was distracted by a nagging thought.

"We need to get back to the team," she said softly, turning away from Han and taking a step through the undergrowth. He playfully caught her by the forearm.

"Not yet, we don't," he said, a mischievous smile crossing his face. They were surrounded by thick, lush flora, and had only the wilderness to keep them company. This was the first time they had been truly alone since their capture over a year ago, and he intended to make the most of it. Leia saw the look in his eyes, and without another word being spoken, they both knew they wanted the same thing. She returned his playful smile, and cast off her helmet and poncho, casually throwing them to the ground. She stepped toward him, took hold of the front collar of his tunic with one hand, and pulled him down to her level with a playful aggression he had never seen from her before. She kissed him again, pouring out the passion she had been keeping in check through the year they were apart. Han's eyebrows went up in surprise. The woman he remembered from a year earlier had changed. She no longer held back her desire for him; instead, she unleashed it, knowing that she might not get another chance. He felt her hands on him, and descended softly to the ground with her, reclining on her discarded poncho like a blanket. He watched with amazement as she knelt over him and unbuckled his belt. Any other time, with any other woman, he would have instinctively guarded his weapon. This time, however, he cast it aside without a second thought. They peeled off their clothing at a frantic pace, tossing it aside as if its touch burned them. Neither of them spoke as she crawled on top of him. Without conscious thought, another grin crept onto his face. Her entire body was laid bare before him, and he could not have imagined a more perfect sight. He closed his eyes, in part to temper his excitement, but also to sear her beauty into his memory forever. He felt her kiss on his lips again, and they gasped in unison as he slid into her. In that moment, there was nothing else in the galaxy that mattered. After everything they had been through, neither of them had any intention of holding back.


	14. Chapter 14

XIV

The blood-red engines of the _Executor_ powered down when it reached its position on the far side of Endor. It hovered silently in the shadow of the moon, maintaining a perfect geostationary orbit opposite the Death Star. The darkness of night blanketed this side of the untamed forest world, leaving nothing for the crew to see besides an unremarkable black orb. High up in the _Executor's_ command tower, Vader stood in his private quarters, attentively watching the hexagonal screen on the far wall. For the moment, it was blank, but Vader could sense that Admiral Piett was about to attempt contact with him. Luke stood quietly behind his father, taking in his surroundings without moving. Before he could ask the reason for their momentary pause, the screen on the wall flickered to life, displaying a live feed from the bridge. It was Admiral Piett, just as Vader had predicted.

"My Lord," Piett began, "the ship is in position, as ordered. Docking Bay Six has been cleared, and we've found no evidence of anything left behind by your Rebel prisoner." Piett's gaze flickered briefly over Vader's shoulder, where Luke stood, then back to Vader himself. He knew better than to question Vader's decision to keep Luke at his side, instead of in a detention cell.

"Good," Vader acknowledged. "Maintain our position while I interrogate the prisoner...and see to it that I am not disturbed."

"Yes, my Lord," Piett replied evenly.

The screen went blank again as Admiral Piett returned to his duties. Vader gestured toward the screen with one hand, and there was a muffled clicking noise as its internal components were disassembled. He wanted to ensure that there could be no eavesdropping before he went any further. Without turning to address Luke, Vader marched to his meditation chamber in the center of the room. It opened up as he drew near, the top hemisphere retracting toward the ceiling. Vader stepped over the saw-like teeth that ringed its edge, and sat down in the center. Luke remained standing on the deck, watching with morbid curiosity as robotic arms emerged from the inner walls of the open chamber. The arms removed Vader's cape, and began their routine examination of his artificial limbs and organs. Vader's breathing continued uninterrupted, somehow making the atmosphere even more uncomfortable.

"I know you were not alone on that shuttle," Vader said at last. Luke opened his mouth to lie, then thought better of it. He paused without making a sound, allowing Vader to finish. "I'm sure your companions have landed on Endor by now. You should know that the Emperor has made preparations for their arrival."

"How could he have known about us?" Luke asked.

"Not you," Vader corrected, "Only them." He continued to study Luke through the lenses of his mask, and saw the perplexed look on his face. "The Emperor has foreseen much," he explained, "but he has not been able to detect your presence."

"Very well," Luke replied. "Then we shouldn't have any problems talking about how you intend to defeat him."

Vader smiled beneath his mask, but kept still, reluctant to show Luke any hint of emotion. The robotic arms finished their diagnostic procedures, and retracted back into the inner walls of his meditation chamber. Once they were out of the way, Vader toggled one of the keys at his fingertips, and there was a loud hiss of pressurized gas from the edge of the room. Luke flinched, and his head reflexively jerked toward the source of the noise. One of the tall, angular columns that ringed the perimeter of the room was opening outward, its metal sides unfolding toward him like a set of doors. Luke regarded it with interest, as to him, the columns all appeared to be identical. This one, however, was purpose-built for concealment. It had the same color and finish as the rest of the chamber, and would have remained completely invisible to the naked eye had Vader not opened it. As the doors folded out completely, a cloud of thick, foggy gas billowed out of the open compartment, sinking to the floor and thinning out around his feet.

"What do you keep in here?" Luke asked, peering into the dimly lit compartment. It was easily large enough for him to stand up inside, but apart from the trace gases, it was empty.

"It was meant for you," Vader answered. Luke glared up at him, but said nothing. "That would have been your resting place, had you accepted the truth, and joined me when we last met. I had planned to hide your frozen body there, far away from the Emperor. When I revived you, you would have been in an isolated sector, where your training could have been completed in secret."

Luke recognized the similarities between what Vader had planned for him, and what Obi-Wan and Yoda had actually done. He almost smiled at the irony, but managed to keep a straight face. "I don't need any more training," he pointed out. "I'm ready for whatever it is you have planned."

"That remains to be seen," Vader countered. He reached for his belt, and retrieved Luke's lightsaber. He held it out, where Luke could clearly see it, and extended his arm as if offering it to him. Luke glanced at the metal-plated floor between him and his father, and suddenly felt like a small child again, reluctant to step forward for fear of the punishment that awaited him once he got within arm's reach. He suppressed the nervous feeling, and feigned confidence as he walked to the base of the meditation chamber. He stopped at the first of the steps leading up to Vader, and looked up, expecting a trick. Vader made no attempt to move. He sat as still as a statue, his arm extended, tempting Luke to pluck the lightsaber out of his grip. Luke exhaled through his nostrils, and stared at his weapon, determined to act before Vader changed his mind. He stared into Vader's mask, reached out, and took the lightsaber. Vader did not react.

"What now?" Luke asked. He was even more apprehensive now than before. He had expected Vader to surprise him when he made a move for his lightsaber. Now that he was armed, he feared that whatever test Vader had in store for him was more dangerous than he'd anticipated. Vader's only reaction was to press another key on his control panel. There was another hissing sound from the open compartment, this one much quieter and more subdued than the last. Luke turned to look, and saw a panel in the floor had risen by just a few centimeters. Something else was hidden beneath it.

"Open it," Vader ordered. Luke crossed the room and knelt down by the raised panel. He worked his fingertips under its edge, and it lifted up almost effortlessly. Beneath it was a footlocker-sized storage unit. Luke spied a pyramid-shaped metal ornament twice the size of his fist, engraved with ornate designs and Aurabesh script on all sides. He recognized it as a holocron almost immediately, and wondered what secrets Vader kept so carefully hidden. Next to the holocron, there was a small bundle wrapped in dark brown fabric. It took up no more space than a folded change of clothes. Next, Luke's eye was drawn to a tiny, black box resting atop the bundle of fabric. The box was only large enough to hold a ring or a jewel, but Luke could sense its importance. When he attempted to discern its contents, the Force gave him a slight feeling of dread, accompanied by an image of the box he'd found in Obi-Wan's footlocker on Tatooine—the one that had held his lightsaber crystal.

"What is it?" Luke asked.

"It is the weapon that will destroy the Emperor," Vader answered. Luke looked at his lightsaber, then back up at his father. A chill ran up his spine as he felt eyes leering at him through the lenses of that emotionless mask. He turned back to the open compartment before him, picked up the box, and set it on the floor at his feet. With one hand, he felt the indentation where the halves closed together, and lifted the lid. Inside the box, resting on a molded surface that gently cushioned and protected it, was a pitch-black lightsaber crystal. It was perfectly shaped, with a multifaceted surface like a precious gem. Instead of reflecting light, however, as any other piece of jewelry might do, this crystal seemed to absorb it. Luke probed this new crystal with the Force, and sensed its destructive potential, but none of the harmonious energy that emanated from his lightsaber. This object was something else entirely.

"Crystallized baradium," Vader explained. "One of the most powerful explosives in the galaxy. A fragment that size has sufficient yield to disintegrate the Emperor in an instant."

Luke ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he deciphered his father's plan. "You want me to replace my lightsaber crystal with this," he predicted. Vader leaned back in his seat, and Luke sensed a mixture of confidence and pride emanating from him. "Then what?" Luke asked. "I just...hand it to him?"

"No," Vader corrected. "_I_ will hand it to him, and you will use the Force to activate it. The charge from the ignition switch will detonate the baradium...and the Emperor will die."

"If the explosion is as powerful as you say," Luke pointed out, "We'll be killed, too."

"I will feel you reaching out with the Force, and shield us from the blast," Vader promised. "But it must be instantaneous. To kill the Emperor, we need the element of surprise. If he has any time to anticipate the attack, he _will_ survive."

"I understand," Luke said. He took a deep breath, and set his lightsaber on the floor, next to the open box. He did not wish to destroy his weapon, especially after putting so much time and effort into it, but the strategic importance of killing the Emperor outweighed his guilt. He sat cross-legged on the floor and relaxed his mind, opening himself to the will of the Force. As he perceived the invisible energy field around him, a troublesome thought occurred.

"Father," Luke began, "What happens after the Emperor is slain?"

Vader took several mechanical breaths before he answered. "Six of his Royal Guards will engage us immediately after the blast. It will not be easy, but we must slay them all." He paused briefly, taking another breath before continuing. "Once they are defeated, I will take direct control of the Death Star, and the fleet. We will capture the Emperor's advisers, who stay in his tower with him, and blame his assassination on them."

"But they're innocent!" Luke exclaimed.

"Do not speak to me about the innocence of the Emperor's followers!" Vader roared, pointing his index finger at Luke angrily as he spoke. Luke's expression softened, and Vader lowered his hand. "They must be destroyed," he continued, "or they will rebuild the Emperor's regime in their own image. Their deaths will sweep away any questions about this conspiracy, and ensure an orderly transition."

"An orderly transition?" Luke scoffed. "So we kill them all, then the Empire belongs to you and me, is that right?"

Vader's regulated breathing echoed through the chamber for several more seconds. "That is correct," he confirmed.

"And how am I supposed to keep fighting after my lightsaber is destroyed?" Luke asked, gesturing to the baradium crystal in front of him.

"Take a closer look," Vader urged. Luke leaned over the open compartment again, and his attention was drawn to the parcel wrapped in dark brown fabric. He reached in and picked it up, and it unraveled in his hands. Something heavy had been wrapped up in the center of it, and it began to fall out before Luke could react. Vader extended his hand, and the object flew out from the fabric that had concealed it, landing in Vader's outstretched palm. Luke saw that it was a gleaming metallic cylinder, and instantly recognized it as a lightsaber. He squinted his eyes, focusing on it as Vader held it in his grip. It was almost identical to his own. _But that's impossible_, he thought. _I patterned mine after...Obi-Wan's_. He looked back at the piece of fabric he was still holding in his hands. Gravity had unfolded it completely for him, and now he could see the black burn mark running horizontally across it. It was the cloak of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"The Emperor assumed these were destroyed, along with the first Death Star," Vader explained. "I never told him I had them shipped away. He would have destroyed them himself, if he knew the truth."

Luke stared in disbelief, unable to speak. He rolled up the cloak as carefully as he could, and placed it back in the compartment before turning his attention to Obi-Wan's lightsaber again.

"This should serve as a suitable replacement, until you can construct another," Vader said. He shifted his focus from the lightsaber to Luke, and saw rage building up on his son's face. He smiled, sensing an opportunity to truly test the boy's abilities.

"It upsets you that I have this," Vader taunted. Luke shot an angry glare in his direction.

"You're not worthy of keeping it," Luke hissed through gritted teeth. "You betrayed the Jedi. You betrayed him. All you have left is your hate."

Vader was silent for several seconds. Luke briefly wondered if he'd gone too far, but quickly decided he didn't care. This was his chance to speak his mind, and he did not know if he would have another.

"I hate the Emperor," Vader said at last. "He has earned my hatred, and yours, too, for what he has done to the galaxy."

"And what about Obi-Wan?" Luke asked, gesturing toward the lightsaber again. "Did he earn what you did to him?"

"Yes," Vader boomed, narrowing his eyes imperceptibly as he studied Luke's reaction. "You, of all people, should know the depths of his lies. He was a failure, and the quick death I gave him was a mercy compared to what he deserved."

Luke began to breathe heavily, and clenched his fists at his sides. More than anything, he wanted to strike Vader down, and take back his old master's weapon. His sense of honor demanded immediate action, but he refused to budge.

"Your thoughts betray you," Vader teased. "You are filled with anger...but you must learn to hide it, if we are to defeat the Emperor. If I can sense it, so will he."

Instead of allowing the temptation to overwhelm him, Luke remembered what Yoda had taught him. He felt his breathing and heart rate slow down as he called upon the Force to help him relax.

"I know what you're trying to do," Luke said calmly, "and it's not going to work. I'm leaving, to help my friends." He turned his back on Vader, and made his way over to his lightsaber, which still rested on the floor near Vader's hidden storage vault.

"Yes," Vader confirmed, "Your feelings for them are strong. Especially for...sister!"

Luke stopped in his tracks, and his heart rate surged again. His primal instincts screamed at him to fight or flee, but he found himself unable to move.

"So, you have a twin sister!" Vader sneered. He now made no effort to hide the excitement in his voice. The dark side of the Force surged through him, confirming that Luke was on the verge of giving in. He was giddy with anticipation, eager to see his son's true potential unleashed. "Your feelings have now betrayed her, too. Obi-Wan was wise to hide her from me. Now, his failure is complete." With that, Vader relaxed his grip on Obi-Wan's lightsaber, allowing it to drop to the floor of his meditation chamber. Luke flinched as the noise echoed through the room. His chest heaved as he struggled to control his breathing, and his inner voice screamed at him to fight Vader then and there. He attempted to use the Force to relax himself again, but his thoughts were clouded. His connection to the Force was reduced to the equivalent of static, mere white noise in his head.

"I wonder," Vader mused, "When she is made to kneel before the Emperor, will she struggle? Or will she follow in Obi-Wan's footsteps, and submit to her fate?"

"NO!" Luke howled. Before he could consciously make a decision, his feet were carrying him toward Vader's seat at a dead sprint. He hurdled over the edge of the meditation pod and lunged forward with his hands outstretched, too overwhelmed by rage to care that he was telegraphing his movements. Vader punched out with his right arm, flexing his fingers like talons, and caught Luke by the throat. He squeezed tightly as he stood, cutting off Luke's air supply as he hoisted him up off the deck. Luke kicked his feet helplessly as the floor disappeared from beneath him.

"Even now, your hatred controls you," Vader taunted. "Perhaps I was wrong to enlist your help."

Luke gritted his teeth, his face contorting into an expression of rage. He grabbed Vader's forearm with both hands, and struggled to break away, but it was no use. His lips started to turn blue from the pressure of Vader's vise-like grip. Thinking quickly, before his brain was too deprived of oxygen to function, he lifted his knees to his chest, and kicked out with both feet together. The soles of his boots smashed into the computer panel mounted to the front of Vader's torso. Vader roared with pain and fell back onto the floor of the meditation chamber, releasing Luke in the process. Luke twisted in the air and landed on all fours. He filled his lungs with one great gasp of air, then clambered over Vader's seat and straddled his prone body. He grabbed the metal collar around Vader's neck and lifted with both hands, then smashed the back of Vader's helmet into the floor as hard as he could. He ignored Vader's groan of pain, and did it again. He pulled Vader upright for a third strike, but before he could throw him down again, a better idea occurred to him. He dragged Vader to the edge of the pod, where he wedged his neck collar down between two of its enormous, ridged teeth. The collar wedged itself into the gap perfectly, preventing Vader from moving. Luke reached underneath the flared edge of Vader's helmet and used his leverage to peel it away. There was a short hiss of escaping gas, and Luke tossed the helmet to one side. He saw a molded skullcap attached to Vader's mask, and clutched at it, pulled it away, and dropped it to the floor. With rage still burning in his eyes, he raised his fist, and brought it down on his father's exposed face.

Luke felt his rage grow even stronger, and punched Vader again with all of his strength. He kept punching, over and over, relishing the feeling of satisfaction it gave him. He ignored the mild sting of his own skin tearing as it caught on the edge of Vader's collar. Vader coughed, blood spurting from his mouth and nose, and Luke finally relented. He clambered to his feet and reached for the control panel, preparing to close the two halves of the meditation chamber together like a crude guillotine. As Luke pushed the button with his right hand, and the ceiling began to lower, his eye was drawn to the torn skin around his knuckles. It had been split and peeled away by his savage assault, revealing the mechanical joints beneath. His expression of rage turned to horror. He took his hand off the button and looked back at his father. In the absence of rage, he could see Vader's face clearly. It was horrifying to behold, but he could not look away. All at once, he recognized chalky, white skin, the absence of hair, the knotted scar tissue across the left cheekbone and along the top of the scalp. Then, he looked into Vader's eyes. They were blue, like his own, and when he looked into them, he realized how similar they were to each other. Vader's thoughts were indiscernible, except for a tear rolling down his face.

"Go on...my son," Vader croaked, expelling the last breath of air he still had in his lungs. "Kill me. It's what...I deserve. Kill me."

Luke was revolted, both by the thought of what he had just subjected his father to, and the thought of what would happen if he stood idle much longer. He frantically pulled Vader free from the "teeth" of his chamber, and practically hurled him into his seat. The automated functions of the chamber resumed instantly. The robotic arms extended from the ceiling, replacing Vader's mask and helmet. His controlled breathing resumed as soon as they snapped back into place.

Luke retreated from Vader, breathing heavily. He stepped out of the meditation chamber, and crossed the room to retrieve his lightsaber. As he knelt to pick it up, his mind suddenly became clear again. He could not explain why, but he felt as though gravity was pulling him down, and his legs were powerless to keep him upright. He sat down with a thud, his back rising and falling as he caught his breath. In spite of his exhaustion, he felt a sense of serenity. It was as though the experience of giving in to his anger had cleansed him, shining a bright spotlight into the shadowy corners of his mind, and bringing him closer to the Force than he had ever been before. Luke closed his eyes and extended his hand. His lightsaber rose off the floor and hovered in front of him, rotating and disassembling until its individual components hung suspended in the air. The green crystal floated away from the other pieces, and the crystallized baradium levitated out of its tiny storage box to replace it. The lightsaber reassembled itself with the explosive black crystal at its core, and Luke opened his eyes as soon as he felt the components seal themselves together again. He took his eyes off of his new weapon, and watched his green crystal float down into the storage compartment, landing softly among the folds of Obi-Wan's cloak. When he looked back at his lightsaber again, it was no longer hovering in the air. Instead, Vader had his gloved hand wrapped around it. Luke looked up and saw Vader leaning over him, breathing regularly just as before. He rose to his feet and took a breath of his own, unsure of what to say.

"Obi-Wan lied," Vader declared somberly, "to protect the ones he loved." He said nothing more, making no sound apart from his breathing. If the injuries beneath his mask bothered him, his booming voice showed no sign of it.

"I know, father," Luke acknowledged.

"You are ready," Vader assured him. "It is time to meet with the Emperor."

Luke nodded, and held his hands out in front of him so Vader could place binders on his wrists once more. Once the binders locked into place, Luke put his left hand over his right, to hide his injured knuckles. Vader put his left hand on his hip, cocking out his elbow to move his cape slightly. Luke could see the gleam of Obi-Wan's lightsaber at the back of Vader's belt, and then it was gone as the cape drifted down around Vader's shoulders again. Vader gestured toward the blast doors with Luke's newly modified weapon, and they walked out together, determined to meet their destiny.


	15. Chapter 15

XV

Chewbacca led the strike team through the forest in the direction of the shield generator. They paused every so often to reorient themselves, peering up through the canopy at the Death Star, which was clearly visible in the sky above. So far, there had been no signs of any additional Imperial troops, or Han and Leia. Chewbacca worried for their safety, but he knew it would not help the mission to stand around and wait for them. Instead, he pushed forward, leading the team through the forest as quietly as possible. Han's commandos followed without a word of protest, and the droids brought up the rear. Thankfully, the terrain had not been too rough for either of them.

After hours of hiking, Chewbacca started to detect signs of fatigue and dehydration from the men behind him. They did not complain, but his sensitive nose and ears told him everything he needed to know. He moaned quietly, and leaned his bowcaster against a nearby tree trunk. The men followed suit, crouching or sitting with their backs against the surrounding trees and their weapons close at hand. R2-D2 whistled happily as he rolled up to the edge of the group. Like his humanoid counterpart, he was incapable of feeling physical exhaustion. He stopped next to C-3PO, and used his scanners to search the surrounding area. He beeped excitedly as he processed the results of his initial scan, and C-3PO translated his outburst.

"Oh! Chewbacca!" C-3PO announced. "Somebody's coming!"

The men grabbed their rifles and shifted to kneeling positions, turning outward to form a defensive circle while using the tree trunks as cover. Chewbacca kept his bowcaster pointed at the ground, and peered into the foliage. He heard two pairs of footsteps, and it did not sound like they were trying to conceal themselves. Before he could bellow a warning, Han and Leia stepped into view.

"Chewie!" Han called. Both he and Leia were grinning from ear to ear. Chewbacca thought nothing of it at first. Then, the wind brought Han's scent to his nostrils, and Chewbacca could smell traces of pheromones that went unnoticed by the others. He glanced at Leia, and detected the same subtle odor in her pores. Chewbacca laughed quietly, unable to control his amusement. Han looked up at him, perplexed.

"What?" he asked, holding his hands out to his sides. Chewbacca gave no reply, except to laugh again and casually walk away. C-3PO shuffled forward.

"General Solo," he greeted, "We are relieved to see you and Princess Leia have made it back safely."

Han nodded and held up his palm to silence the droid. He surveyed the rest of the team, and saw that they were all on their feet again. Although their brief rest had been interrupted, the sight of their general had renewed their strength. He saw the determined looks on their faces, and knew it was time to press on.

"We stopped those scouts from reporting back to base," he advised, "but their speeders are wrecked. We'll have to continue on foot."

No one protested or complained. They would follow Han to their deaths, if they had to. The Rebels made their way to the clearest trail they could find, and resumed their hike, using the Death Star above them as a guide. Within minutes, the sound of distant blaster fire echoed through the air. The commandos alerted to it simultaneously, taking positions of cover and searching for the source of the noise. It was coming from a cluster of trees far off to one side, but it was sporadic, with only one shot fired every few seconds. Whoever the shooter was, it sounded like he was alone. The team used hand signals to communicate, slowly advancing toward the source of the blaster fire using a bounding overwatch technique. They stopped when they reached a berm that provided decent cover. The noise grew louder, suggesting that the shooter was just on the other side. Han, Leia, and Chewbacca peeked over the top of the berm, and glimpsed a flash of red light, followed by movement in the undergrowth. The leafy foliage rustled, and there was the distinctive sound of snapping twigs. Then, the bushes parted, and a panic-stricken scout trooper stumbled into view. The scout sprinted awkwardly across the uneven ground, his eyes on his feet, oblivious to the Rebels' presence. Every few seconds, he looked over his shoulder, and fired his blaster pistol at some unseen enemy. Han and Leia glanced at each other, confused as to what the scout could possibly be running from. Before long, they had their answer. Just as the scout looked down at his feet again, he caught himself on a tripwire that had been carefully strung across the forest floor at ankle height. His momentum carried him forward as the tripwire released a hidden counterweight, and a crude net sprung up from the ground and lifted him into the air. The sudden motion caused him to lose his grip on his blaster pistol, and it landed far beyond his reach. He flailed his arms and legs and cried out for help, but it was no use. The soles of his boots dangled at least a meter above the ground. There was nothing he could do but wait for his pursuers to catch up with him.

The Rebels clutched their weapons tightly, reluctant to show themselves until they knew exactly what they were dealing with. After only a moment's pause, two male humanoid figures emerged from the bushes and advanced on the scout trooper. Even from a distance, they were visibly ugly, with wrinkled, scaly skin, ape-like brow ridges over sunken eye sockets, and tiny nostrils that gave their faces the appearance of skulls. They wore primitive-looking, mismatched armor that looked like it had been salvaged from a trash compactor. They had blaster rifles slung across their backs, but for some reason, they did not use them. Instead, they held primitive-looking wooden spears in their clawed hands. The humanoid aliens approached the fallen trooper, who continued to struggle in vain when he saw them. When the aliens reached him, the larger of the two stuck the tip of his spear into the ground, and withdrew a dagger from a scabbard on its belt. The alien grabbed the scout's leg with its left claw, and stabbed upward with its right. The dagger pierced the scout's inner thigh, where there was no protective armor, prompting an agonized scream from the helmeted trooper. The alien pulled the dagger toward itself, opening a wide gash in the thigh. Blood spurted out of the severed femoral artery like a fountain, splashing onto the leaves below as the trooper screamed and screamed. The alien looked up at his prey, watching coldly until the screams trailed off, and the trooper's body went completely limp. The Rebels did not make a sound as the hunter wiped his dagger on an unstained section of the trooper's black body glove and sheathed it. Leia decided she had seen enough, and quietly turned away, slouching so that the berm would conceal her. Han saw her move, and quietly followed to make sure she was all right. As soon as they reached the bottom of the berm, they froze. Dozens of hideous, skull-like faces were staring at them through the undergrowth. The foliage was pushed aside as a horde of the grotesque hunters emerged. Somehow, they had advanced quietly enough to avoid detection, even by Chewbacca. The Rebels were surrounded.

When Chewbacca and the rest of the strike team turned to look at Han and Leia, they saw the hunting party that had gathered behind them, and raised their weapons immediately. The barbaric-looking aliens did the same, shaking their blaster rifles like spears, and barking commands in a throaty, guttural language. The muzzle of one of their blasters crossed Han and Leia, and Han instinctively reached for his own pistol.

"Hey," he warned coldly, "Point that thing someplace else." The alien appeared not to understand him. It surveyed the Rebels on the berm with its cold, yellow eyes, and bared its sharp teeth. Han shifted so the right side of his body was toward the berm, and slowly began to unholster his pistol.

"Han, don't," Leia urged him. "It'll be all right." He opened his mouth to argue, but she preempted him with an observation of her own. "They're hunting with spears," she pointed out. "I doubt those blasters even work at all." Han paused to study the rifles the hunters carried, and saw that they were almost completely wrapped with strips of cloth and plant material. He acknowledged Leia with a subtle nod, and slowly moved his hand away from his pistol grip, leaving it securely in its holster. The strike team followed Han's lead, keeping their weapons pointed at the ground, but eyeing the crowd of aliens warily. Leia looked around for C-3PO, and noticed him cowering in the shadows at the base of a nearby tree. Luke's poncho concealed him well, all things considered; she was able to quickly identify him only by the dull glow of his photoreceptors.

"Threepio!" she called.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, twitching when he heard her voice. He quickly shuffled to her side. "Yes, Princess Leia?" he asked timidly.

"Do you understand anything they're saying?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, Princess Leia!" he replied. "Remember that I am fluent in over six million forms of communi—"

"Who are they?" Han interrupted. "What do they want?"

C-3PO turned to the closest of the humanoid aliens, and translated the questions. Even in the droid's tinny voice, the language itself sounded angry and intimidating. The aliens looked at each other, unsure of how to respond. While C-3PO awaited an answer, the largest of the aliens stepped forward from the middle of the crowd. He was at least two meters tall, with a tangled beard and a mane of long, white hair. His armor was cleaner and more symmetrical than that of his comrades, and from his command bearing and the way the shorter aliens retreated to clear a path for him, it was apparent that he was the leader of the band. He looked down at C-3PO, studying the droid from head to toe, then glared at the Rebels. They could sense that he was looking for a challenge, and they gave him none. Even Chewbacca respectfully avoided making direct eye contact. At last, he spoke, his voice resembling nothing so much as a series of throaty growls and coughs.

"They hail from Sanyassa IV," C-3PO translated, "a nearby planet in the Moddell sector. They were shipwrecked here, and carved out this territory for themselves. They have fought to defend it against enemy intrusion."

"Tell them we mean them no harm," Leia requested, "and that we're here to fight men like the one his hunters killed over there." She remained calm while C-3PO interpreted. Before the destruction of Alderaan, she'd had enough experience as a diplomat to know the importance of clear communication. Besides, she had been in standoff situations far more dangerous than this one. The leader of the Sanyassans aggressively barked at C-3PO, who turned to Leia to translate.

"He says his people hate the Empire, and would be happy to see it destroyed," C-3PO proclaimed.

"There's something else we have in common," Han remarked. He looked more closely at the Sanyassan leader, and saw something he hadn't noticed before. Hanging from the Sanyassan's belt were several tiny, humanoid skulls. They were identical to the ones he'd seen dangling from the collar of the beast killed by the _Tydirium_.

"Threepio," Han called out. "Ask him about that animal we saw, with the skulls on its collar. Did it belong to him?"

C-3PO spoke for quite some time, using hand gestures to describe the collared beast. The Sanyassan appeared confused, then his yellow eyes widened with sudden realization. He barked at the hunters under his command, and they rushed forward, taking the Rebels firmly by the arms and hoisted them to their feet.

"Hey!" Han protested. Chewbacca roared in outrage, and looked to Han for guidance. Han shook his head quickly, seeing that they were vastly outnumbered, and within range of the aliens' razor-sharp melee weapons. Unlike the blasters, there was no doubt that those blades worked. The Rebels reluctantly surrendered their weapons, seeing no other option but a wholesale slaughter. The Sanyassans prodded the disarmed Rebels in the direction the scout trooper had come running from, and they moved willingly. Han moved alongside C-3PO, dismayed by their plight, but also eager to find out what had prompted such a drastic response from the Sanyassans. He leaned as close to the droid as his escort would allow.

"What did he say?" Han demanded.

"He is taking us to see his king," C-3PO explained. "Apparently, it is in regard to the animal killed by the shuttle. It is a domesticated species, used for hunting the creatures whose skulls adorned its collar."

"Great," Han sighed. "So we killed his hunting dog."

"No, General Solo," C-3PO corrected. "It did not belong to him. It belonged to something else, something that he and his people fear greatly. He called it the Gorax."


	16. Chapter 16

XVI

Han was surprised at how quickly they reached the edge of the forest. One minute, the trees were clustered so tightly that only a fraction of the available sunlight reached the forest floor. The next, they were stepping out onto an open plain, where nothing grew higher than his ankle. Han squinted as his eyes adjusted to the brilliant sunlight. As soon as he could look up, he saw their destination on a distant hill. It was a dilapidated stone castle, built ina a style not seen since feudal times, with high walls and turrets that remained imposing despite the visible crumbling at their edges. To Han, it appeared to be an ancient relic, potentially useful only as a smuggler's hideout. Still, he was apprehensive about the "king" that awaited them beyond its medieval-looking gates. He took a deep breath, and kept marching. They had no choice now but to plead with these Sanyassan marauders, not only to spare their lives, but to send them on their way quickly so they could bring down the shield generator before the Alliance fleet arrived.

The Rebels reached the castle in less than an hour, and were quickly ushered through its gates by the band of hunters escorting them. There were more Sanyassans standing watch along the parapets, clutching blaster weapons that looked like they were just as likely to explode as they were to fire accurately. Here and there, the Rebels spotted what appeared to be females of the species. They had a slightly smaller stature, and wore plain, roughspun dresses instead of armor. They scurried out of sight as the hunting party went by, making no attempt to speak. Leia found herself wondering what sort of conditions these Sanyassans raised their children in. It looked like they had been marooned on Endor for a century or more, and were reduced to subsistence living in the absence of any hope of rescue. She was unable to dwell on it for long, as the Sanyassans quickly brought the Rebels into the main hall of the castle. The room had no candles, and was lit only by open flame. There were candles and torches set into the walls, and tables had been placed around a roaring bonfire. Several of the Sanyassans broke away to prepare skewers of meat for their next meal. A Sanyassan male with polished armor and a roughspun cape sat upon a throne at the far end of the hall. The Rebels were brought to a halt just a short distance from the throne, and the leader of the hunting party stepped forward to address his king. C-3PO edged forward, struggling to see between the muscular shoulders of the Sanyassans in front of him. The leader he had spoken to earlier gestured to him, and the king beckoned him forward with a single sharp claw. C-3PO stepped up to the base of the throne obediently, and listened while the king spoke. After the king finished, C-3PO turned to the Rebels and translated.

"May I present King Zakul, rightful heir to the throne of his father, King Terak," C-3PO announced, gesturing to an urn which sat on a pedestal to the right of the throne. The urn was engraved with intricate designs, and capped with a gleaming red jewel. By C-3PO's gesture, it appeared King Terak had been cremated. "And slayer of the puny usurper Yavid," C-3PO continued. At this, he gestured toward the left armrest of the throne, where a child-sized Sanyassan skull had been affixed for all to see. The skullcap had been removed, leaving a circular opening at the top of the skull. Here, King Zakul rested his goblet, showing utter contempt for his vanquished foe. Han set his jaw and did his best to remain calm. Already, King Zakul was reminding him of Jabba the Hutt. He wondered how they would get themselves out of this, since there was no chance of Luke coming to their rescue this time. King Zakul growled at C-3PO again, punctuating his speech with an ominous grin that exposed his sharp teeth.

"What did he say?" Han demanded.

"His Majesty wishes to know more about our mission to defeat the Empire. He is curious to know how we will succeed, especially now that we have provoked the wrath of the Gorax," C-3PO said. Han leaned over toward Leia, and spoke to her in a low voice so he would not be overheard.

"What is he talking about?" Han asked.

"I don't know," Leia replied, just as quietly. "The way they use that name, it sounds like some kind of pagan god."

"I guess that would explain all the skulls," Han speculated. He stepped forward to provide C-3PO with an answer for King Zakul. "Threepio," he said, "Tell him we're going to destroy the shield generator, so our people can destroy the Death Star. And you can tell him we'll fight off any monsters we see along the way."

C-3PO rotated his upper body to translate Han's words, but Leia interrupted. "Wait!" she commanded, and C-3PO immediately turned to face her. "We don't want to insult his people. Tell him if he gives us our weapons back, and lets us go, we'll help them escape this place. After the offensive is complete, the Alliance will provide transports to take them back to their homeworld—or wherever they want to go."

C-3PO relayed Leia's offer to King Zakul, and his deep-set eyes widened in awe. He snarled at C-3PO with a rapid cadence, clearly excited by this new opportunity.

"His Majesty says his scouts will show us the quickest way to the shield generator," C-3PO interpreted, "in exchange for a guarantee of sufficient transportation off-world."

"Artoo?" Leia called. The astromech obediently rolled to her side. "Show him one of our transports."

R2-D2 beeped in the affirmative, and pointed his holoprojector at the base of King Zarek's throne. The projector emitted a blue cone of light, which instantly displayed a three-dimensional representation of a GR-75 medium transport ship. Although the image was drastically scaled down, the effect was immediate. Every Sanyassan in the room leaned forward and fixed their gaze on the rotating hologram. There were hushed gasps and whispers, indicating pure excitement at the prospect of escaping Endor. King Zarek held up his clawed hand, and the hall went quiet again. He nodded at the Rebels with approval, and R2-D2 deactivated the hologram. The Sanyassans surged forward, offering the Rebels their weapons with outstretched arms. The strike team immediately took possession of their rifles and equipment, checking to ensure every component was still intact and had not been tampered with. Chewbacca made a gruff hooting noise as he snatched his bowcaster away from the hunter who carried it. Han secured his blaster pistol in its holster again, and kept his right hand on its familiar grip to remind himself that it was still there. He wandered across the hall and paused when he reached Major Derlin, who was inspecting one of the Sanyassan blaster rifles.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Not bad," Derlin replied. He had removed the cloth wrappings that covered the weapon, and was pleased with what he saw. "It seems there was some kind of power struggle when their king took over. The fighting drained all of their blasters, and they wrapped them up once they used the last of their ammunition. They've kept most of them clean, and protected them from environmental damage."

"Good," Han acknowledged. "Get their scouts loaded up. They might come in handy."

Chewbacca growled at this, unable to hide his discomfort with arming the Sanyassans out of their own limited supplies.

"It's better than no help at all, Chewie," Han pointed out. Chewbacca grumbled quietly, but said nothing more. As the strike team divided their ammunition with the Sanyassans, Han made his way to Leia and put his arm around her hip.

"Hey," she said, greeting him with a smile and a faced the roaring bonfire, sharing the experience without feeling the need to speak.

"We should be to the shield generator by 0300," Han said at last. "Plenty of time to set the charges before the fleet arrives." She nodded, but said nothing else in response. Han could tell something was bothering her.

"What's going on?" he asked. She shook her head quietly, and tears welled up in her eyes.

"It's Luke, isn't it?" Han asked with a frown. Leia nodded, blinking rapidly to clear her vision.

"I...I don't think he's coming back," Leia sobbed.

"Come on, don't talk like that!" Han chided. "He knew what he was doing. I'm sure he'll make it out of there." Leia nodded, and wrapped both of her arms around Han's waist, hugging him closely. She sighed and blinked away her tears, quickly regaining her composure. Han rubbed her back gently to comfort her, knowing that there was little else he could do. As they stood by the fire, one of the Sanyassans approached, offering skewers of freshly cooked meat. Leia gave a polite smile, and began to reach for one. With the whirlwind of excitement she had experienced over the past several hours, she couldn't remember when she last ate, and now the sight and smell of fresh food was causing her stomach to growl.

"I wouldn't eat that if I were you," Han warned. Leia looked up at him, confused. "I think it's stormtrooper," he added with a smirk. He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, directing her attention to the bloodstained pile of white armor plating in the corner of the hall. She recoiled from the Sanyassan holding the skewer, and found that her appetite was no longer bothering her. Han smiled, and continued watching the fire. _Better them than me_, he thought.

Once the Rebels and the Sanyassan marauders were fully armed and equipped, they marched out of the ruined castle and back toward the forest. King Zakul had urged them to get under way as quickly as possible. Whether it was out of fear of his unseen monster, or eagerness to leave Endor behind him for good, Han didn't know. All he knew was that they had a mission to complete, and the Death Star would be invulnerable until it was done. He walked alongside Chewbacca, so they could both watch the Sanyassan marauders carefully for any signs of betrayal. So far, the aliens were true to their word. They led the Rebels to a game trail, and stayed on it effortlessly, even in the dwindling light. As hours passed, and darkness fell over Endor, the Rebels marched more closely together to make sure no one got separated. It was slow going, and Han began to suspect the Sanyassans were misleading them. Just then, however, the Sanyassan scouts crouched down behind a thick, rotting log, and stopped the Rebels with a hand signal. Han relayed the signal back, and the strike team followed suit. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see the faint glow of artificial light in the distance. He snuck forward, with Leia and Chewbacca close behind him, and peeked over the log.

Before them was a dull gray landing platform, supported by two columns with catwalks protruding in all directions. The flat landing surface was illuminated by four spotlights, one in each corner, and several smaller warning lights along its edge. An AT-AT walker patrolled the clearing around the platform, its heavy feet tamping down the earth with each step it took. Nearly a kilometer beyond the landing platform was the shield generator itself, an enormous, brightly lit metal tower topped with a circular dish several hundred meters across. This dish was ringed by several smaller focusing projectors, which angled inward toward the center, where a cluster of emitter antennae jutted outward like a bundle of spears. This entire monstrous device was pointed up at the sky, in the direction of the Death Star orbiting Endor like a small moon.

"The main entrance to the control bunker is on the far side of that landing platform," Leia whispered. "This isn't going to be easy."

"Hey, don't worry," Han reassured her. "Chewie and me got into a lot of places more heavily guarded than this." Chewbacca barked in agreement. One of the Sanyassans turned to C-3PO, and hissed at him in his native language.

"What's he saying?" Leia asked.

"He says there's a secret entrance on the other side of the ridge." C-3PO replied. The Rebels nodded to each other, and directed the strike team to follow them. They traveled around the landing platform in a wide, semi-circular arc, keeping elevated terrain between them and the roving AT-AT walker at all times. The Sanyassan scouts caught sight of the hidden entrance first, and beckoned the Rebels forward. Han slunk forward to see from their vantage point, and noticed a sloped metal bunker set into the earth. The blast doors were recessed into the armored walls, ostensibly to protect them from blaster fire, and there were four scout troopers standing guard beneath the metal overhang. Their speeder bikes were parked off to one side, but there was no indication they would be moving anytime soon.

"Back door, huh? Good idea," Han thought aloud. The nearest Sanyassan understood his tone, and grunted approvingly. Han signaled to Corporal Janse and Lieutenant Greeve, who moved forward with their sniper rifles unslung.

"There's only a few guards," he told them. "This shouldn't be too much trouble."

"It only takes one to sound the alarm," Leia warned.

"Then we'll have to be quick," Han replied. "Leave me the one furthest from the control panel," he ordered Janse and Greeve. The two sharpshooters nodded and went prone, slowly crawling across the leafy forest floor until they had a clear view of the blast doors. Han snuck around behind the bunker, and crept up where the scouts would not see him. When he reached the front corner, he raised the muzzle of his blaster pistol in the air, and quickly dipped it again. Two blaster bolts zipped out of the foliage, and two of the scout troopers dropped dead. Each had a neat, round hole burned through the viewplate of his helmet. Han calmly walked toward the blast doors, keeping his blaster steady in his hands. Janse and Greeve fired simultaneously, and the third scout crumpled with two holes in his face. _Show-offs_, Han thought. He found the fourth and final scout trooper exactly where he expected, pressed against the far wall of the entryway. The scout was still frantically looking for the source of the shots that killed his squadmates when Han got the drop on him. The trooper's hands went up immediately when Han leveled his pistol. Han could see his captive trembling, but made no attempt to move until the other Rebels had joined him in the entryway. Once he felt the reassuring presence of Han, Chewbacca, and the rest of his team by his side, he lowered his pistol.

"Open the door," Han ordered. "Right now."

The trooper fumbled for his utility pouch, and withdrew a tiny, card-shaped device. He stepped over the three bodies between him and the control panel on the opposite side of the entryway, and swiped the keycard. The blast doors slid open, and the strike team quickly dragged the scout trooper away to prevent him from manipulating the control panel any further. Han aimed his pistol down the corridor leading into the underground bunker complex, and was relieved to see that it was empty. He stepped across the threshold, and his companions fanned out behind him. Once he saw their blaster muzzles pointed down the corridor, he risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Sergeants Junkin and Squalls, the primary demolitions experts on the team, were standing behind him with explosive charges slung over their shoulders. _This is it_, Han thought. _We're in_.


	17. Chapter 17

XVII

Hundreds of starship engines glowed brightly in the space above Sullust, displaying all the colors of a supernova. As H-Hour approached, all of the ships in the Rebel fleet aligned themselves for a simultaneous launch, with the gigantic _Home One_ at the forefront. Lando Calrissian piloted the _Millennium Falcon_ around the Mon Calamari behemoth, grinning from ear to ear as he found the controls to be just as sensitive as he remembered them. He and Han may have had their differences, but they shared the same affinity for the _Falcon_, and he was thrilled at how smoothly she responded to him. He checked the instrument panel, and confirmed that his fighter group remained close behind him. There were five X-Wings, three B-Wings, and a solitary A-Wing fighter trailing him, and they maneuvered exactly as he did, putting their ships through their paces for the last time before they made the jump to hyperspace. As long as they stuck together, Lando was confident there wasn't a TIE fighter squadron in the galaxy that could go toe-to-toe with them and win.

"Admiral, we're in position," Lando announced through the comm as he passed the nose of the _Home One_. "All fighters accounted for."

"Proceed with the countdown," came Admiral Ackbar's reply, his sibilant pronounciation less noticeable over the comm. "All groups, assume attack coordinates," he ordered. He rotated his chair toward the deck to overhead windows, so he could see the _Falcon_ from the bridge. Lando's Sullustan co-pilot, Nien Nunb, turned to him and made a comment in his native language. Lando's grasp of the language was a bit rusty, but he understood the skeptical context.

"Don't worry, my friend's down there!" Lando promised. "He'll have that shield down in time." Lando paused, the gambler in him asking how much money he would put on that bet if he had the chance. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure. "Or this'll be the shortest offensive of all time," he muttered grimly. Just then, Admiral Ackbar's voice came over the comm again.

"All craft, prepare to jump into hyperspace on my mark," he ordered.

"All right, stand by," Lando confirmed, stretching out his arm and resting his hand on the hyperdrive controls. The instrument panel lit up at Ackbar's signal, and Lando pressed the throttle forward. The stars in front of him stretched out like blaster bolts, and the _Falcon_ hurtled past the speed of light. Every ship in the fleet followed suit, disappearing into the void and leaving Sullust far behind.

Meanwhile, the Death Star continued its perfect orbit around the forest moon of Endor, completely unaffected by the inbound Rebel fleet. Moff Jerjerrod's laborers continued their grueling work, TIE fighters rotated through endless patrols, and the Imperial armada remained stationary on the far side of the moon. As far as Emperor Palpatine was concerned, everything was proceeding in accordance with his will. He sat on his throne, watching the stars slowly move across his field of view, perfectly content to sit for hours on end without moving or making a sound. This total complacency was exactly what Vader and Luke were counting on. The father-and-son duo stood quietly as their turbolift rose to the uppermost level of the Emperor's private tower. Vader kept his inner voice silent, focusing on nothing but the rhythmic cadence of his own breathing. After decades of enduring unspeakable pain from his injuries, the fresh contusions his son had left on his face were not nearly enough to distract him. He had been planning this fateful meeting for over a year, and had come to regard it as his last great act of defiance. He would allow nothing to spoil the surprise he had in store for his master.

Luke stood beside his father, waiting patiently for the turbolift doors to open. He clasped his hands together gently, feeling the scrapes on his right knuckles with the fingertips of his left hand. Fortunately for him, his mechanical hand did not bleed, and it had been relatively easy to close the torn flaps of artificial skin so they were barely visible. He kept his mind relaxed, certain that the Emperor would not be suspicious of such a tiny detail. He was unsure of what to expect once he stepped off the turbolift, but he believed in the plan his father had entrusted to him. He'd had time to dwell on it since leaving Vader's private quarters aboard the _Executor_, and he had come to realize the wisdom in Vader's actions. By forcing him to release his anger, Vader had granted him a form of serenity he would not have otherwise had. Now, he knew that it didn't matter who or what he faced on the other side of that door; he would face it at the height of his strength, with more power at his disposal than he had ever known. He couldn't help but feel grateful, in spite of his father's crimes. He knew now that there was something else at work, something he could not fully understand. _The will of the Force_, he reminded himself. It was that combination of knowledge and faith that calmed him, and allowed him to keep his mind devoid of conscious thought. He reached out with his senses, and detected the same confidence emanating from Vader. They both were perfectly attuned to their surroundings, with the alertness and cold determination of apex predators. Their faith in the Force would be their only ally as they ventured into the wolf's lair.

The turbolift doors slid open, and Luke felt a chill in his bones that he had only felt once before. The temperature had not changed, but somehow, this feeling was even worse than his near-death experience on Hoth. This chill was akin to the cave on Dagobah, where he had failed to conquer his own inner demons. He gritted his teeth, and reminded himself of Yoda's teachings. _I am a Jedi_, he thought. _My ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is_. He repeated the mantra over and over as he surveyed the vast, open room before him. Every surface was reinforced with durasteel beams and redundant supports, apparently as a measure of security for the most powerful man in the galaxy. This gave the room itself an emaciated look, like the inside of an enormous rib cage. Luke had to give his eyes a moment to adjust, as the room was darker than the turbolift he was about to leave behind. The only area that was clearly lit was the straight path before him, leading directly across a narrow catwalk, up a flight of stairs to a lofted deck. Up there, resting in front of a great, circular window, was Emperor Palpatine's throne. Luke saw that it was facing away from him, concealing its occupant from view, but he could sense an utterly evil presence radiating through it. He also felt a primal sense of alarm from the Force, a warning that the Emperor could sense him as well.

Luke took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the catwalk, mindful of the pair of crimson-cloaked Royal Guards flanking the turbolift. Vader followed close behind, making no sound apart from his heavy footsteps and mechanical breathing. They ascended the stairs together, pausing only when they reached the top. Luke could feel the Royal Guards watching him from below, and ignored them, focusing entirely on the throne at the far end of the loft. The throne silently rotated 180 degrees, allowing Luke to see Emperor Palpatine for the first time. He expected a man with a regal bearing, someone who would appear at home surrounded by bureaucrats and soldiers alike—the way Leia had described Grand Moff Tarkin to him. What he saw instead looked like a grave robber had gone into a crypt, and propped up a corpse as some kind of grotesque joke. The first thing Luke saw was a pair of wrinkled, chalk-white hands on the armrests of the throne. The fingers were knobby and crooked, like they had been broken and never properly healed. Next, his eye detected a thick, black cloak covering a pair of slender arms. He followed the outline of the cloak up to a pair of bony shoulders, and the drooping, black hood between them. Finally, Luke saw the Emperor's pale, ancient-looking face. The eye sockets were sunken and discolored, and the eyes themselves had yellow irises that almost seemed to glow in the darkness. Luke fixed his gaze on those cold, yellow eyes, and was greeted with a smile that revealed decaying, blackened teeth.

"Welcome, young Skywalker," Palpatine's voice rattled. "I have been expecting you." Luke said nothing in response. From what Vader had told him, the Emperor had not foreseen everything. _Always in motion, is the future_, he remembered. He wondered what would happen to him if the Emperor could truly see what he intended to do, then stopped himself. There was no need to contemplate death, when so much still hung in the balance.

"You no longer need those," Palpatine announced. He lifted his right index finger, and the binders unfastened themselves from Luke's wrists and fell to the deck. Luke glanced down as they clattered to his feet, then looked up again, showing no emotion. He was right. The Emperor did not perceive him as a threat.

"Guards. Leave us," Palpatine snapped. Luke felt the Royal Guards' eyes move off of his back as they obediently strode out of the room. They moved in unison, their footsteps totally silent. Luke couldn't believe his luck—he had not expected the plan to fall into motion so easily—but he emulated his father and buried his excitement. He maintained perfect eye contact with the Emperor, ignoring the vulnerable feeling those yellow irises gave him.

"I'm looking forward to completing your training," Emperor Palpatine declared. "In time, you will call _me_ master." At this, Luke could contain himself no longer.

"You're gravely mistaken," he responded calmly. Vader turned to look at him, but did not interrupt. He could feel his father's sense of dread, and felt a subtle urge to be silent, but paid it no mind. "You won't convert me, as you did my father," he challenged.

"Oh, no, my young Jedi," the Emperor rasped, standing from his throne and walking slowly toward Luke. "You will find that it is you who are mistaken...about a great many things." As he hissed these words, he leaned forward, close enough for Luke to feel his breath. Luke saw the fire burning in the Emperor's eyes, daring him to continue arguing. He did not look away, knowing that his audacity would keep the Emperor from dwelling on anything else. Vader sensed the tension rising, and finally spoke.

"His lightsaber," Vader offered, extending his left hand. In it, he held Luke's modified weapon, with the blade emitter facing himself to avoid arousing suspicion.

"Ah, yes," Palpatine acknowledged, reaching out and taking it without hesitation. "A Jedi's weapon." He examined the hilt closely, and turned back to Luke with a goading smile. "Much like your father's," the Emperor pointed out. "By now, you must know that your father can never be turned from the dark side. So will it be with you."

Luke felt a wave of emotion from Vader, and felt something pleading with him, telling him not to argue, lest he incur the Emperor's wrath. Luke brushed it aside.

"You're wrong," he said flatly, matching the Emperor's challenging smile. "Soon, I'll be dead...and you with me."

Rather than lash out, Palpatine simply laughed. "Perhaps you refer to the imminent attack on your Rebel fleet." Luke's confident expression slipped for a moment, as he wondered how much the Emperor knew about the Rebels' looming offensive. Palpatine saw the look of panic in Luke's eyes, and his voice lowered to a growl. "Yes..." he reveled. "I assure you, we are quite safe from your friends here." He turned away, scowling and clutching Luke's innocuous-looking weapon with both hands. Despite his knowledge of the Rebels' plans, Luke could feel that the Emperor was perturbed. It was clear that he was not used to being challenged.

"Your overconfidence is your weakness," Luke deliberately prodded.

"Your faith in your friends is yours," Palpatine snapped in response. He turned and walked back to his throne, and Luke could feel the displeasure radiating from him. Luke was still worried for his friends, but he still felt that he was in control. The Emperor's adversarial nature had filled him with a desire to win their petty argument, dividing his attention and preventing him from seeing the fate that awaited him. Vader's attention, on the other hand, was still perfectly focused. He turned to Luke, and reminded him of their objective with carefully chosen words.

"You are only delaying the inevitable, my son," Vader rumbled. Luke said nothing in response. He understood his father's meaning perfectly, and was pleased to see that the Emperor did not. He watched Palpatine sit down upon his throne, placing the surrendered lightsaber down on his right armrest and confidently throwing the sleeve of his robe over the left. The Emperor leaned back, resting his head against his cushioned seat, and smiled once again.

"Everything that has transpired has done so according to my design," he gloated. "Your friends, out there on the Sanctuary Moon, are walking into a trap...as is your Rebel fleet." Luke's heart sank, and he struggled to remain calm. Vader eyed him cautiously as the Emperor continued to brag. "It was _I_ who allowed the Alliance to know the location of the shield generator. It is quite safe from your pitiful little band. An entire legion of my best troops awaits them!"

Luke felt himself breathing more rapidly, and the familiar rage he had unleashed upon his father welled up in him again. He suppressed it with the knowledge that the Emperor's guard was down. Palpatine was so preoccupied with taunting him that he was oblivious to the bomb resting beneath his own hand. Luke could sense that the Emperor would never be this vulnerable again, and decided to act. He called upon the Force, and felt its universal energy flow through him. Emperor Palpatine took no notice, leaning forward with a condescending pout on his face.

"Oh..." he moaned, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm afraid the deflector shield will be quite operational when your friends arr—"

Luke pressed the ignition switch of his lightsaber with the Force, snapping his eyes and mouth shut as he did. There was a flash of light, impossibly brilliant even through his eyelids. In the same moment, he felt the most powerful impact of his life along his entire body, from head to toe. The wind was knocked out of him, as if he had just leapt from a rooftop and belly-flopped onto the ground. He felt like his forehead, nose, mouth, and groin had been smashed with a hammer, all at the same time. There was a dull pain in his right hip and elbow, and when he reached out with his hands, he realized he had fallen to the floor. He was surprised to find that he couldn't tell up from down, and wondered if it had something to do with the ringing in his ears. After several seconds, he was finally able to find his own forehead with the palm of his left hand, and winced at how tender it was. _I am never, ever going to do anything like this again_, he told himself. The moment that thought crossed his mind, he was unable to hold back his laughter. _What am I saying? I'll never have to do anything like this again_, he thought. _I just killed the Emperor_.


	18. Chapter 18

XVIII

Colonel Dyer sat at his desk with his head in his hands, fighting the urge to fall asleep. He stared at the bulky computer terminal in front of him and sighed. There was always administrative work to be done, but he felt like he would rather grab hold of a live wire than fill out another report. There was simply nothing to do, and sleep was not an option. The entire bunker complex was on high alert, and all personnel were expected to respond if any Rebel incursion was attempted. Dyer glanced at the commlink resting next to his computer. If the silent alarm connected to the blast doors was triggered, he would know about it. So far, hours had passed with absolutely no activity, and he was beginning to wonder if the Rebels had even landed on Endor at all.

Dyer startled when he heard a vibrating noise from the commlink on his desk. His eyes widened as he stared at it, and his body froze. The signal could mean only one thing. The Rebels were here, now, on this moon. They were coming. Dyer had clear orders to help coordinate the subsequent defense of the bunker in the event of a Rebel attack. Even so, he had not convinced himself of the possibility that it could actually happen. He slowly pushed out his chair and stood. He stared at the commlink for several seconds before gulping nervously, and finally picking it up.

"Yes?" he said, clenching his alternate fist to steady his voice.

"Colonel," came the reply. It was the voice of Lieutenant Renz, whose mission was to monitor the bunker from the outside. "The Rebels have taken the rear entrance. Multiple casualties. I'm leading my squad in behind them."

Dyer's heart pounded in his chest. Since his unintended meeting with Darth Vader on Cotellier, he had prayed to the Maker that he would never face that level of fear again. Now, it seemed all his prayers were for naught.

"Copy," Dyer replied. "I'll meet you in the control room." With that, he deactivated the commlink, and put it in his uniform pocket. His right hand drifted toward the grip of his blaster pistol. He had never pulled the trigger in the line of duty before, but the sinking feeling in his gut told him tonight was the night. He found himself leaning against his desk, pressing his left hand on it to support his weight, and took a deep breath to steady himself. Then came the clanking noise of boots against metal flooring. One of Dyer's subordinates appeared in the doorway.

"Sir, the crew is being held hostage!" he gasped. "Come on!" He waved his blaster in the direction he'd been running, and took off again at a dead sprint. He did not look back to see if Dyer was following. Dyer felt a sickening feeling wash over him as he realized why. _He thinks I'm a coward_, he thought. He stepped around his desk and hesitated again, gaping at his empty doorway. All his posturing, all those moments where he feigned a tough demeanor—and his men saw right through it. Dyer felt a surge of anger, and stormed forward. This would be the night he showed them what he was truly capable of.

Dyer stepped out of his office, and drew his blaster pistol from its holster. He practically stomped down the corridor, following the tiny silhouette of his officer up ahead. He could hear muffled voices from the end of the corridor, but there was a T-shaped junction on his left that prevented him from seeing them. It had to be the Rebels, barking orders at the technicians being held hostage. Dyer saw the officer in front of him round the corner, still running at full speed, and disappear from view. There was a muffled impact, and he heard an anguished grunt. The officer tumbled back into the hall, his hands flailing in the air. He collapsed to the deck, unconscious. Dyer watched him fall, and froze in his tracks. The Rebels in the next room were hardened veterans. He wasn't sure how he knew, but there was no doubt in his mind. He knew if he followed his subordinate around that corner, he was going to end up dead. So, he stood still. He still held his blaster in his hand, at waist level, with the muzzle pointed straight down the hall, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything else. Then, he heard the voice of a woman.

"Han!" the voice called. "Hurry. The fleet will be here any moment."

Dyer struggled to keep his jaw from trembling as he breathed nervously through his mouth. _The fleet will be here any moment_. The words resounded in his mind. The Rebels were launching an all-out attack on the Death Star—there could be no doubt of that now—and there he was, unable to make himself round that corner and challenge the Rebels. Each moment he stood still merely proved that he was every bit the coward his men thought him to be. Another voice reached his ears from the room he could not see. This one clearly belonged to a man.

"Charges! Come on!" the voice barked. "COME ON!"

Dyer closed his eyes, and berated himself for his inability to act. He tightened his grip on his pistol, as if feeling its molded texture digging into his palm would somehow stir a hidden drop of courage. When he opened his eyes, he was startled again, but not by the Rebels. This time, it was a squad of stormtroopers, running at him from the far end of the hall. Dyer jumped as he realized he was pointing his blaster right at them. He pointed the weapon up at the ceiling, and watched the stormtroopers run past. They went by, one after another, paying no attention to him. Then, Dyer heard the voice of Lieutenant Renz from the next room.

"You Rebel scum," Renz gloated triumphantly. When he heard Renz speak, Dyer knew it was over. His moment had passed. The one chance for him to show bravery, even if it meant his death, was gone. He stepped to the side of the hallway, and rested his back against the cold metal. Without any conscious thought, his legs gave out, and his back slid quietly down the wall as he slumped to the floor. There he sat, clenching his fists, growing uncontrollably angry with himself. He'd been backed into a corner by Nahdonnis Praji, of all people, stranded on Cotellier for a rotation that felt like an eternity, and ungraciously shipped back to Endor with nothing to welcome him but an overflowing inbox. Now, to top it all off, he would be remembered for backing down from the greatest threat the Empire ever faced. The only soldiers he'd managed to point his blaster at were his own. Dyer felt tears welling up in his eyes, and out of desperation, he held his blaster to his own head. _Might as well_, he thought. _Maybe someone will say the Rebels did me in_. He shook his head, and allowed his blaster to drop to the floor. _Who am I kidding? They were right. They were all right. I am a coward_. Lost in his own misery, Dyer buried his face in his hands and wept.

Light-years away, in the mesmerizing blue fog of hyperspace, Lando Calrissian studied the instrument panel of the _Millennium Falcon_. Red warning lights glowed ominously in front of him, warning him of the looming mass shadow of the forest moon. He ignored them, knowing that he would have to time his arrival perfectly to preserve the element of surprise. He allowed just a few more seconds to pass, then pulled back on the throttle. The swirling blue vortex disappeared, replaced by hundreds of thin strands of light. Then, the _Falcon_ passed the light barrier, and Lando saw the familiar void of space once again. There was a tiny, dull crescent in his path, which grew to dominate his field of view even as the _Falcon_ continued to decelerate. Lando checked his sensors again, and sure enough, the rest of the Alliance fleet was emerging from hyperspace right behind him. His fighter group led the way, followed by the _Home One_. As more ships piled into the system, Lando looked up from his instruments. He could make out the shapes of two crescents before him, the Death Star being the smaller of the two. _Here we go_, Lando thought, toggling the comm.

"All wings, report in," he ordered.

"Red Leader, standing by," Wedge Antilles acknowledged. The voice of Colonel Horton Salm came next.

"Gray Leader, standing by," he replied.

"Green Leader, standing by," Arvel Crynyd said next.

"Lock S-foils in attack positions," Wedge ordered. Every X-Wing and B-Wing fighter in the vicinity unfolded its wings to widen their fields of fire and improve maneuverability.

"May the Force be with us," Admiral Ackbar's voice rasped over the comm. None of the Rebels had anything to add to his words. Even the pilots who were skeptical of the Force knew better than to disrespect such a well-intentioned gesture on the precipice of battle. Aboard the _Falcon_, Nien Nunb turned to Lando and spoke in his native language, a hint of worry in his voice. Lando stared at him in disbelief.

"We've got to be able to get some kind of reading on that shield, up or down!" he protested. Nunb gave a frantic reply, and Lando was taken aback. "Well, how could they be jamming us if they don't know w—" Lando's voice caught in his throat as he realized the awful truth. "—we're coming," he murmured. He looked out of the cockpit window in horror. The massive Death Star was right in front of them now, its dish-shaped superlaser pointing toward them like the eye socket of an incomprehensibly huge skull. Lando knew somewhere between his seat and the hull of that battle station was an active energy shield. He couldn't see it, but if he didn't change course now, it would vaporize the _Falcon_ and every ship behind it. He slapped the comm and barked out a warning.

"Break off the attack!" he shouted. "The shield is still up!"

"I get no reading," Wedge advised. "Are you sure?"

"Pull up!" Lando ordered, knowing that there was no time to argue. "All craft, pull up!" He wrenched the controls, turning the _Falcon_ hard to port. His fighter group split in two, with some ships following him, and the rest pulling hard to starboard. On the bridge of the _Home One_, Admiral Ackbar scrutinized the movements of the fighters, and spoke quickly to maintain order.

"Take evasive action," he said calmly. "Green Group, stick close to Holding Sector MG-7."

The Alliance fleet reacted immediately, with even the larger ships rotating away from the invisible wall of death before them.

"Admiral!" shouted a Mon Calamari bridge officer. "We have enemy ships in Sector 47!"

Ackbar turned his attention to the sensors, and felt a rush of panic. An Imperial fleet, composed of at least thirty Imperial Star Destroyers, and spearheaded by the Super Star Destroyer _Executor_, was bearing down on them. The horizon of Endor had shielded the Star Destroyers from view, but now they were clearly visible, spreading out in a wide pattern to cut off the Alliance's retreat. Ackbar shouted the only thing that came to his mind.

"It's a trap!" he exclaimed.

Lando kept the _Falcon_ pointed straight at the incoming Imperial ships, confident that his gunners operating the quad laser cannons would give them a splendid welcome.

"Fighters coming in!" he warned. Dozens of TIE fighters and TIE interceptors flew past them, putting Lando in mind of a swarm of flying insects. Bright green bolts of laser fire tore past the _Falcon's_ cockpit, almost all of which missed entirely. It was no wonder, considering that the pilots on both sides were traveling at speeds that would be suicidal in an atmospheric environment. The TIE pilot that made that rare, lucky hit had no time to relish it, as the energy was diffused across the hull by the _Falcon's_ deflector shields. Lando watched the movements of his fighters carefully. They were vastly outnumbered, and he knew it would take more than luck to survive this fight.

"There's too many of them!" one of his pilots shouted. The voice belonged to Colonel Salm's wingman, a Y-wing pilot named Lieutenant Telsij. Lando ignored the remark, and glanced at his instruments. Most of the TIE fighters had already gone by, and were closing in on the larger ships behind him. He saw their strategy unfolding, and quickly turned the _Falcon_ around to engage them.

"Accelerate to attack speed!" he called to the others. "Draw their fire away from the cruisers!"

"Copy, Gold Leader," Wedge replied. Together, they wove erratic paths between the squadrons of TIE fighters, drawing their attention immediately. The Imperial pilots who gave chase leaned on their laser cannons, spewing shots across the backdrop of hulking Mon Calamari cruisers. The bright green lasers impacted harmlessly on the thickest sections of the cruisers' hulls, lacking the precision and coordination of the initial attack wave. The other Rebel pilots caught on quickly, forcing their enemies to re-evaluate their targets. Lando nodded with approval as the void grew thick with fragments of destroyed TIE fighters. They weren't gaining a decisive edge—not yet—but they were prolonging the battle. Lando was certain that if they could keep it up, Han and his team would bring the shield generator down, and the Death Star would be as good as gone.

Far below, on the surface of Endor, Lieutenant Renz and his men led the captured Rebels out of the bunker complex. The stormtroopers led the way, to prevent friendly fire when they exited the blast doors. Renz marched behind, keeping his blaster pointed at the Rebels' backs. Although they'd been disarmed, he knew they would seize the first opportunity to turn the tables on him and his men. When they stepped out of the bunker, Renz saw the prisoners slow their pace, and their shoulders slumped with disappointment. In the time it had taken him to detain the Rebels and escort them outside, portable spotlights had been set up along the edges of the clearing. The spotlights pointed inward, brightly illuminating it from all angles. It made little practical difference, as the sky was already beginning to brighten with the approach of dawn. The desired effect, however, was not practical, but psychological. In the center of the small field, hundreds of officers, scouts, and stormtroopers were assembled, heavily armed and standing in loose formations upon the uneven ground. The spotlights made the stormtroopers' white armor shine brightly, forcing the Rebels to avert their eyes. Along the treeline, interspersed between the spotlights, were four AT-ST walkers. Each stood on two spindly legs, pointing their blaster cannons down at the Rebels menacingly. In the darkness beyond the spotlights, the low moaning of speeder bike engines could be heard. It was still too dark for high-speed patrols, so the scout troopers allowed their bikes to idle, facing inward to provide fire support at the first hint of resistance. Renz beamed with pride, and found himself wishing he could see the Rebels' faces as their hopes were dashed.

"All right, move it!" one of the stormtroopers ordered.

Han tried not to let his disappointment show as he stepped out into the artificial light. It would be pointless to fight now, and he knew it would be a wholesale slaughter if he tried to run. As he surveyed the faces of the Imperial officers, he could see from their expressions that they wanted him to do just that. They were itching for an excuse to put a bolt in his back. He glared right back at them, and stepped forward. _I'll be damned if I give them the satisfaction_, he thought. Leia, Chewbacca, and the rest of his team followed. They, too, were demoralized and afraid, but they still trusted him. They made their way to the middle of the clearing, where the other Rebel commandos stood with their hands behind their heads. Their surrendered weapons and equipment were piled up on the ground just a few meters to Han's left, guarded by two stormtroopers. Han made a mental note of their orientation as he joined the rest of his team, and wondered how they could get to the pile without being shot.

"Hello! I say, over there!" a shrill voice called from the darkness of the woods. Han recognized it immediately, and swung his head around to look. _Threepio!_ he thought. The Imperials were just as surprised, instinctively pointing their rifles into the dark. One of the spotlights rotated almost 180 degrees, bathing the forest with its artificial light. Sure enough, there in the center of the beam was C-3PO's gleaming, brass-colored body. He had discarded Luke's camouflage tunic, and stood upon a leafy berm, waving his hands to attract attention to himself. Beside him was R2-D2, his white and blue chassis illuminated just as brightly.

"Were you looking for me?" C-3PO shouted.

"Bring those two down here!" one of the officers ordered. The six stormtroopers closest to the edge of the clearing obeyed immediately, watching their feet to avoid tripping as they charged into the undergrowth.

"Well, they're on their way," C-3PO said quietly. "Artoo, are you sure this was a good idea?" Before the astromech droid could answer, the stormtroopers were upon them.

"Freeze!" one of them ordered.

"Oh!" C-3PO exclaimed, holding his arms awkwardly out to his sides.

"Don't move!" the stormtrooper repeated.

"We surrender!" C-3PO announced. Before the stormtroopers could react, a volley of blaster fire erupted from behind them, just beyond the reach of the spotlight. Multiple bolts struck each stormtrooper in the head and back, puncturing their armor. All six of them dropped to the ground, barely able to grunt with surprise before they died. C-3PO and R2-D2 retreated to the cover of a nearby tree trunk. The warriors who had slain the Imperial troops rose from behind the mossy log that had concealed them. They clutched their rifles tightly in their clawed hands, and each of them shared the same bloodthirsty grin. Their leader stepped into the light, where the sawed-off mask of the scout trooper he had killed earlier dangled from a chain around his neck, like a medallion. With his free hand, he beat his chest like a primate, proudly thumping the trophy around his neck, and bellowed defiantly at the Imperials gathered in the clearing below. The Sanyassan marauders had arrived.

Han grinned when he sensed the alarm and dismay wash over the legion of stormtroopers around him. He never thought he would be so happy to see the hideous Sanyassan warriors again. Just then, there was another furious, guttural roar. This one came from the roof of the bunker itself. Han whirled around to look, along with many of the distracted Imperials. King Zarek stood atop the bunker, bedecked in armor, with a rifle in his hands and a scimitar sheathed at his waist. His roar echoed across the clearing and through the trees. In response, more blaster fire erupted from all directions, cutting down the Imperials where they stood. Somehow, King Zarek had positioned his warriors behind the spotlights, and quietly surrounded the clearing. Now, with the ammunition furnished by the Rebels, they were cutting the stormtroopers down in droves. The Imperials broke out of their formations and into small groups, running in all directions as they sought cover from the Sanyassan ambush.

In that moment, Han knew it was time to act. He lunged for the stormtrooper guarding his weapons, grabbing him by the forearm. Luckily for Han, the hapless trooper was panicked by the screams of his comrades being massacred around him, and did not recognize the attack until it was too late. Han planted his feet, and channeled all of his strength into throwing the trooper down. At the same time, Chewbacca grabbed the other stormtrooper guarding the weapons cache, picking him up under the armpits and hurling him through the air like a rag doll. The Rebels eagerly descended on their weapons and rearmed themselves.

Lieutenant Renz dropped to one knee, and braced himself against the side of the bunker entrance. His eyes bulged as he processed the fact that this once-orderly capture had transformed into a deadly maelstrom. He looked up at the AT-ST walkers standing between the opposing armies, relieved to see that their crews were finally starting to move. The walkers were rotating outward to face their greatest threat, moving somewhat awkwardly on their bird-like legs. _I know we had more men out there. Where the hell are my scouts?_ Renz wondered. As if in response to his thought, the high-pitched howling of accelerating speeder bikes reached his ears. All around the edge of the clearing, he could see the elongated outlines of the bikes moving forward, apparently closing in to keep the Rebels trapped in the center. When they reached the light, however, Renz's confidence disappeared altogether. The scout troopers were gone, and the alien guerrilla fighters were riding the bikes in their place. The enemy moved into the clearing, firing indiscriminately at any suit of white armor they could draw a bead on. Renz scowled, and looked to his side to bark orders to his men. At that moment, he realized he had no men. Where they had once stood, in the alcove beside him, there were only armored corpses. Renz took one last look at the battlefield, cursed, and retreated into the bunker, closing the blast doors behind him.

Han heard the sharp squeal of the blast doors as they closed, and turned to his companions. "Let's move!" he shouted. "Move!" Leia, Chewbacca, and several of his commandos followed without question, moving into the alcove and crouching behind the protective shelter of its sloping walls. Han looked out over the clearing, and saw that the fighting had moved into the forest, leaving little in the path of the spotlights besides fallen stormtroopers. Han exhaled sharply upon seeing that three of his commandos had fallen as well. They showed no signs of life, and they were too far away for him to attempt a retrieval. The Sanyassans who had hijacked the speeder bikes either abandoned them, having no inclination to elevate themselves as targets, or zoomed off into the woods to pick off any retreating Imperials. Han's eyes were drawn to the one threat that remained. At the edge of the clearing, there was one AT-ST walker that had not followed the others into the forest. This one had stepped directly in front of the bunker, and rotated its box-like head toward the Rebels, angling its blaster cannons for a perfect shot.

"The lights!" Han ordered. "Chewie, the lights!" Chewbacca barked an acknowledgment, and together, they shot out each of the spotlights illuminating the clearing. By now, the pre-dawn light was just enough for them to see their immediate surroundings, but Han hoped it would distract the AT-ST crew, at least momentarily. He was wrong. Bright red bolts of energy flashed out of the AT-ST's chin-mounted blaster cannons, and Han flinched, pressing himself against the nearest wall. He looked at Leia and Chewbacca, and saw the same looks of concern on their faces, but the bolts had not struck the alcove anywhere. Han looked back in the direction of the walker, attempting to trace the path of the blaster cannons with his eyes. Before he could do so, a dark, heavy mass fell right in front of him, landing in the dirt with a wet _thump_. Han stepped out tentatively from behind cover to get a closer look. The mass on the ground writhed and groaned, and Han saw that the AT-ST pilots hadn't been aiming for him at all. They had been aiming for King Zarek.

The Sanyassan marauders who saw their king fall went into a frenzy, directing all of their fire toward the AT-ST walker at once. The walker was heavily armored enough to withstand small arms fire, but given the heavy volume directed at their viewports, the pilots had no choice but to retreat. The walker turned away from the clearing, and ambled off into the forest to regroup with the rest of the scattered Imperial legion. Meanwhile, Han knelt by King Zarek's side. The volley from the AT-ST had severed both legs at the knee. As the first hint of sunlight began to filter through the forest canopy, Han could see the Sanyassan's blood pooling in the dirt, and the wide-eyed stare that indicated shock was setting in. He knew King Zarek had only seconds to live. He remembered how he'd compared King Zarek to Jabba the Hutt, and although he'd never given voice to the thought, he felt guilty for it. Had it not been for the Sanyassans, the Rebels would have been finished. Han struggled to think of something to say, and settled on the first thing that came to his mind.

"Thank you," he whispered solemnly. "Thank you."

Before he could think of anything else to say, a foreboding cry pierced the air. Han had never heard anything like it before. It sounded like an animal, but it carried an angry tone, and it was impossibly loud for being so far away. King Zarek appeared to have a sudden burst of energy when the noise reached his ears. He lifted his head off the ground and locked eyes with Han, growling in his native language. Han could not understand him, and C-3PO was still hiding far out in the woods, but it sounded like a warning. Han stared in confusion as the alien's speech trailed off, and his head dropped back to the ground again. He could see that King Zarek was gone, and retreated back to cover.

"Did you hear what I heard?" Leia asked.

"Part of it, yeah," Han replied. "The same word he used earlier, when he was talking about their god."

Leia nodded, and repeated it under her breath. "Gorax."


	19. Chapter 19

XIX

Luke coughed and sputtered as his senses returned to normal. He looked around the throne room, and was unable to see beyond his arm's reach in any direction. A cloud of smoke had permeated the room, tinged with the sharp smell of ozone. He coughed again as the smell stung his nostrils, and found that he was starting to hear himself again. His ears were still ringing, but his surroundings became clearer with every second. The next sound he heard was that of Vader's breathing. He looked up, and saw his father staring down at him. His black helmet and armor were stained with a fine layer of metallic gray dust, but otherwise, he seemed unaffected by the explosion. Apparently, his mask had filtered out the particles that aggravated Luke's unprotected airway.

"I thought...you were going to shield us...from the blast," Luke gasped, struggling to hold back his coughing as he spoke.

"I did," Vader replied. He stepped closer, holding his own lightsaber in one hand, and offering Obi-Wan's to Luke with the other. "Now get on your feet."

Luke reached up from the floor, gratefully accepting Obi-Wan's hallowed weapon. He rolled onto one side, and put his hand out to push himself up. As he did, his hand passed into the cloud of smoke, and touched the deck just beyond. Luke gasped in pain and recoiled. The metal surface was hot as an oven. He rose to a kneeling position, and looked around again with the sudden clarity brought on by the sensation of pain. The area within his immediate reach was almost completely free of smoke, and the floor was still cool to the touch. Beyond, he could sense the throne room was ruined. Vader had fulfilled his promise.

Luke heard the unique sound of a lightsaber blade igniting, and reflexively turned to look. Vader was facing away from him and toward the turbolift, rooted in a traditional fighting stance with his glowing red blade in front of his body. Luke shifted his weight to rise to his feet, and felt a spine-tingling sensation of dread. The Force was warning him of grave danger. Before he could react to the warning, a Royal Guard burst out of the thick haze, brandishing a force pike that whirred as it cut through the air. Luke ignited his lightsaber as his opponent rushed toward him, barely recognizing the fact that the guard's footsteps made no sound. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see another Royal Guard had engaged Vader, but there was no time for him to dwell on that. He swept his bright blue lightsaber across the front of his body, deflecting the pike hurtling toward the center of his chest. The forward momentum of the guard's thrust carried the force pike down, into the floor. When the tip of the pike touched the metal, there was a horrific screeching sound, like a high-powered saw blade sinking into concrete. The pike etched a deep groove into the metal, similar to what a lightsaber might have done, and Luke was thankful the weapon had not touched him. The guard recovered immediately, pulling the pike in close to his body, and thrust again and again in rapid succession. Luke parried and stepped back, but the relentless guard matched his movement with an aggressive forward step. Luke released his breath and surrendered himself to the Force, allowing its energy to guide his movements. The stress brought on by the guard's persistent attack melted away. Luke's eyes were drawn away from the tip of the pike, and toward the guard himself. He focused on the movements of the guard's arms and upper body, and felt as if he could see the thrusts of the pike before the guard initiated them. He parried again, then stepped forward. As the guard pulled back for another strike, Luke lifted his lightsaber, aiming the blade at the center of the guard's visor. The lightsaber traveled effortlessly through the tiny, horizontal visor and the skull behind it.

Luke withdrew his blade as his vanquished opponent crumpled to the floor. The crackling, squealing sound of lightsaber combat caught his attention immediately. He turned to his father, who was aggressively slashing at the second Royal Guard. Luke saw alternating flashes of Vader's black cape and the guard's crimson robes as they circled each other, lashing out at any perceived vulnerability. He could sense that both of them were calm, despite all appearances to the contrary. They struck wherever a target presented itself, and blocked each other's attacks with great skill. The guard knew his comrade was dead, but did not allow it to rattle him. Vader also was aware of Luke's victory, but did not call for aid. He waited for the guard to attempt another lethal strike, and when it came, he was ready. The guard thrust at Vader's abdomen, aiming for the gap between his chest panel and his belt. Vader deflected the pike with his lightsaber and sidestepped, then raised his blade and chopped through both of the guard's extended arms. The force pike clattered to the ground, and the guard instinctively reached for his utility belt, seeking another weapon without realizing that he no longer had hands to grip it. Just as the guard began to comprehend what had happened, Vader stabbed him through the heart. The guard lost consciousness, never to awaken.

Luke stepped softly to Vader's side, and saw no reaction from his father. Vader stood perfectly still, breathing with the perfect regularity of a metronome. He faced the direction of the turbolift column, holding his lightsaber in front of him with both hands. Luke held his own blade at his side, using only his right.

"Do not lower your defenses," Vader warned. Luke thought of replying, but decided against it. He emulated Vader's two-handed grip, pointing his blade in the same fashion. Although the fluorescent red and white lights of the distant turbolift column were still murky, the haze was beginning to die down, and most of the particles in the air had settled to knee height. Vader scanned his surroundings and cautiously took a step forward. Luke did the same, keeping his father's shoulder in his peripheral vision. He knew that whatever came next, they would stand the best chance of victory if they faced it together. Luke and Vader advanced as one, each man lighting his path with a blade that had dislimbed the other.

When they reached the stairs at the end of the loft, they stopped. The Force alerted them to the presence of another pair of Royal Guards below, approaching quickly from the direction of the turbolift. This time, Luke had a brief moment to study them as they ascended the stairs, and was amazed at how they moved. The hems of their crimson robes brushed the floor, but somehow they did not trip, and their steps made no sound whatsoever. Luke found himself wondering how they achieved such a feat, but he quickly regained his composure. He had been fortunate up to this point, but this was a fight to the death, and he knew his luck could change at any moment.

Just as that thought occurred to him, Luke intuitively swung his lightsaber up in front of his face. He sensed Vader doing the same thing, not a moment too soon. Two rapid-fire bursts erupted from above, sending blaster bolts raining down on both of them. Luke glanced up, and saw the last two Royal Guards standing on a catwalk above him, delivering suppressive fire with their heavy repeating blasters. Luke deflected the bolts with his lightsaber, allowing the Force to guide his movements, but he feared it would not be enough. The other two guards were still coming, and they were almost at the top of the stairs. He knew he could not deflect the fully-automatic fire from above while simultaneously engaging in melee combat. As the guard with the force pike closed in on him, he moved to the only cover he could find: a metal column off to one side of the staircase. Its top edge was ringed with display screens, angled outward like the petals of a flower. Luke ducked behind it, allowing it to absorb the blaster fire from the guard on the catwalk. The other guard followed him behind the column, slashing at him with the tip of his force pike. Luke's movements were choppy and awkward—he was not used to fighting from a crouching position—but his adrenaline numbed the burning feeling in his thighs, and the Force kept him attuned to the movements of the pike. He blocked each thrust with his lightsaber, studying the guard's movements carefully for an opportunity to strike back.

Vader, meanwhile, remained where he stood, absorbing the blaster fire from above with his outstretched palm. When the guard on the stairs rushed him, he moved his lightsaber into the path of the blaster fire, and felt the dark side of the Force come to his aid. The bolts struck his lightsaber and bounced into the guard ascending the stairs, striking him three times in the chest. The heat burned three holes in the guard's crimson cloak, but was not enough to penetrate the armor beneath. The guard continued to advance, conditioned to keep fighting even after feeling the impact of being shot. His partner on the catwalk, however, paused to reassess his aim, giving Vader the perfect opening. He extended his palm, using the Force to push his attacker. The guard was hurled off his feet, and fell to the base of the stairs. Vader turned his attention back to the catwalk, where the guard with the heavy repeating blaster was taking the slack out of the trigger. He threw his lightsaber into the air, and watched the blade as it spiraled. The guard reacted as he'd been trained, lifting his blaster into its path, a tactic that would have succeeded against any other thrown object. The guard did not have the chance to try again. Vader's blade cut through his blaster, then his torso, and continued through the air as if it hadn't encountered any resistance at all.

Vader did not pause to enjoy the sight of the guard collapsing on the catwalk. He glanced down at the base of the staircase, where the guard who had attacked him with the force pike was rising to his feet. Vader reacted immediately, adjusting the path of his lightsaber as it flew back toward him. The blade cut through the supports that anchored the catwalk to the ceiling, then returned obediently to Vader's hand. The middle section of the catwalk dropped toward the floor like a pendulum, accompanied by a shower of sparks. It landed precisely where Vader intended. The guard was crushed instantly, his armor unable to withstand the weight of the falling durasteel.

Luke felt his limbs growing weak as he struggled to conceal himself behind his cover and fend off the guard towering over him at the same time. His connection to the Force waned as primal fear took over. He could feel his mind racing, and moments from his training on Dagobah flashed before his eyes as he searched for a memory that would help him escape his predicament. His inability to focus cost him dearly, as he failed to completely deflect one of the guard's thrusts. The tip of the force pike grazed his shoulder, opening the flesh like the page of a book. He cried out as the excruciating pain rocked him off his feet. He stumbled backward, exposing himself to the remaining guard on the catwalk. Just then, the blaster fire stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw the guard on the catwalk pausing to reload. He was relieved, but at the same time, the guard in front of him lunged forward, aiming a fatal thrust at the center of his breastbone. With his fear diminished, Luke could feel the Force with him again, and instead of parrying the attack, he jumped into the air. The Force carried him higher than any man could ever hope to leap unassisted, and he planted his feet on the catwalk right in front of the unsuspecting guard. The guard brought the muzzle of his blaster up, having finished his speed reload while Luke was in the air. Luke slashed upward with his lightsaber, cutting the blaster into pieces as he went, then slashed downward again, silencing the guard forever.

Vader spent no time admiring his son's handiwork. When it came to the Royal Guards, he knew there would be no victory until they were all dead. He reached out toward the lone enemy standing adjacent to him, and pulled on his body with the Force. The guard soared backward through the air, directly to Vader's outstretched hand. Vader assumed a two-handed grip on his lightsaber, sidestepped, and swung as the crismon warrior flew by. The guard's lifeless body dropped to the ground, his severed head landing an instant later.

Luke deactivated his lightsaber and breathed heavily as the throne room went quiet once again. He surveyed the damage from his position on the catwalk, and now that the smoke had completely died down, he could see much more of the aftermath of the blast. Where the Emperor's throne once sat, there was now a gaping hole in the deck. The edges of the hole were jagged and splayed in all directions, and even now, they emitted an occasional popping noise as heat dissipated from them. If anything remained of the Emperor and his armored chair, it had dripped down into the darkness below. The enormous circular window beyond the throne room was thankfully still intact, but the panes were covered in spiderweb cracks, and the stars beyond were barely visible through the scorch marks and metallic gray dust. Luke met Vader's gaze and nodded approvingly. It had been a hard-fought battle, but it would be worth it. They had kept their promises to each other, and now it was time to bring the war to an end.

"Come with me," Vader ordered, returning his lightsaber to his belt and walking down the stairs. Luke jumped from the catwalk, landing gracefully behind his father.

"Where do we go from here?" he asked as they reached the base of the stairs.

"The Emperor's private office," Vader explained, gesturing to an area on the far side of the turbolift column. "I will announce his assassination, and order the fleet to stand down. You will provide the encrypted frequencies used by the Alliance, to ensure the message reaches them as well."

Luke paused, troubled by his memory of the next step in his father's plan. Vader sensed that his son was no longer following, and turned to face him.

"The more we delay, the greater the losses on both sides," Vader warned. "This conflict has gone on long enough."

"Father," Luke began, "If we accomplish a ceasefire...what then?" He knew the answer in his heart, but at the same time, he wondered if executing Vader's scapegoats would really put a stop to the bloodshed.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Vader snapped. "We _must_ kill the Emperor's advisers." Luke opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted by a sound he hoped he would never hear again. It was a hoarse, derisive laugh, coming from the shadowy alcove behind the staircase. Luke spun around, his eyes bulging with terror. _It can't be_, he thought. He heard the horrendous screeching of metal against metal as the severed section of the catwalk spun away, leaving a bloody arc on the floor as it dragged the remains of the Royal Guard beneath it. Next, the staircase itself began to groan and vibrate. A vertical gash opened up in the middle of the staircase, and the steps and railings were violently torn apart. What remained of the ruined metal was cast to either side of the room, revealing the hunched silhouette of an old man. His yellow eyes stared out from beneath his hooded cloak, burning with homicidal fury.

"They are still under my protection," Palpatine rasped. "Unlike you."


	20. Chapter 20

XX

Han and Leia crouched together on one side of the bunker entrance, firing on any Imperial troops foolish enough to leave cover. Chewbacca stood on the other side, reloading his bowcaster from the ammunition he carried on his bandolier. So far, they had successfully kept the stormtroopers at bay. Most were busy engaging the Sanyassan marauders in the forest, and the few who had attempted to fight their way back to the bunker found the clearing between it and the treeline to be completely impassable. The best they could manage were a few sporadic blaster shots in the Rebels' direction before they were forced back to the relative safety of the nearest tree trunk. Han saw that the surviving members of his strike team were keeping the Imperials occupied, and turned his attention away from the fighting so he could search for a way to get the blast doors open. As he studied the shielded computer panels set into the alcove wall, he felt a momentary vibration through the soles of his boots. He turned to Leia to see if she'd felt it, too, and the apprehensive look on her face told him she had. Before either of them could say anything, they felt it again. The tremors grew more intense, and were soon accompanied by the distant sound of wood being split apart. Chewbacca moaned a nervous warning, and Han voiced his agreement.

"I have a really bad feeling about this," he muttered. The noise grew louder, clearly audible in spite of the ongoing combat in the forest around them. Han and Chewbacca peered into the distance, searching for its source. Their eyes were drawn to a great, black shadow that blotted out the sun as it swayed between the giant redwoods. It was a vertical form, rocking back and forth as it drew closer, sending an impact tremor through the soil with each swaying movement. Han's jaw dropped as his eyes went up further and further. The head of the behemoth was obscured by the leafy upper branches of the giant redwoods. Han told himself that it couldn't be real—that his eyes must be playing tricks on him. The creature, whatever it was, had to be over twenty meters tall. Before he could process the immensity of what he was seeing, the creature pushed over the last few trees between it and the clearing. The redwood trunks, large enough to provide shelter to an entire squad of stormtroopers, splintered with a deafening report. Han instinctively pressed himself back against the bunker wall, shielding Leia with his arm as the trees fell. Stormtroopers rolled and tumbled out from behind cover, sprinting in all directions to put distance between themselves and this new horror. The Rebels were too awestruck to shoot at them. They stared up at the beast in unison as it stepped forward one more time, clearing the fallen redwoods with a single stride and planting its massive foot in the clearing. It stood upright, like a man, but was coated with long, black fur, which hung from its limbs and body in thick, mangy strands. Only a few areas were devoid of this fur, such as the knees, elbows, face, and digits. These areas were covered in dark brown skin, the deep wrinkles of which suggested a thickness akin to armor plating. It had four fingers and an opposable thumb on each hand. Each digit was as big around as Han's torso, and tipped with a claw as sharp and black as obsidian. Two bright green eyes peered down from its ape-like face, and a pair of triangular ears jutted out from either side of its enormous skull, undulating slowly in the wind like sails. The light of the rising sun shone through them, illuminating a network of pulsing red veins. Across its torso, the monstrosity wore a crude bandolier, woven with rows of tiny, white skulls. When Han saw those grisly trophies, he had no doubt what he was looking at. This was the master of the animal they had inadvertently killed when they crashed the _Tydirium_. This was the Gorax.

The Gorax turned its enormous head, first one way, then the other, surveying the clearing and the forest around it. The incredible noise it had made during its approach had interrupted even the fiercest of the battles raging in the woods. The Imperial soldiers bolted for concealment, nervously aiming their blasters higher than they had ever aimed them before. The Sanyassan marauders, knowing exactly what the Gorax was capable of, melted into the foliage, disappearing with scarcely a whisper. The AT-ST walkers, and the few speeder bikes still manned by scout troopers, spun around sharply to face inward. After a brief, eerie silence, the Gorax clenched its landspeeder-sized fists, filled its lungs with air, and let out a thunderous roar. The Rebels winced at the painful noise, and the stormtroopers flinched as they felt its power even through their helmets. As the roar subsided, a pair of stormtroopers that had hidden themselves just meters from the Gorax made a desperate move for a more advantageous position. They bolted across the clearing, moving toward a squad that was hunkered down behind a berm on the other side. Their sudden movement drew the attention of the Gorax immediately. It bent forward at the waist and roared again, exposing its meter-long fangs as it leaned toward the rattled soldiers. The Gorax reached out with its hand, and scooped both of them off the ground effortlessly. This motion was all it took to remind the other Imperials of their training. Their sense of awe disappeared as they coldly recognized the threat to their fellow men. A gleaming cone of red blaster bolts erupted from the ground, and the Gorax was peppered with hundreds of shots. Even the poorest marksmen among the stormtroopers hit their target; the silhouette of the Gorax was so immense, it was impossible to miss. It let out a third cry, this one a combination of pain and annoyance, and clenched the fist which had scooped up the two helpless stormtroopers just moments earlier. Leia grimaced as she saw the tendons flex along the beast's claws. There were two muffled _pop _noises in quick succession, followed by a trickle of blood from between its fingers. It relaxed its grip, no longer interested in the stormtroopers' corpses, and two bloodstained sets of white armor fell to the forest floor, held together only by lifeless flesh.

The Gorax moved toward the heaviest concentration of blaster fire, soaking up the red bolts effortlessly. It only took two ground-shaking steps to cross the clearing, and then it was on top of an entire squad of stormtroopers. They remained where they were, crouched behind the largest redwood they'd been able to find, and fired at the Gorax from both sides of its thick trunk. The Gorax growled through its teeth with a deep tone that resonated through the entire area. It reached out and grabbed the redwood with both hands, pulling it first to one side, then the other. The roots were torn out of the ground, flinging the stormtroopers on one side into the air. As the tree came back the other way, they were still struggling to get to their feet. The Gorax pushed the tree down on top of them, using its incredible weight to press the tree flat against the earth. To the Gorax, the stormtroopers might as well have been insects. They were crushed inside their own armor, their pulverized remains left to rot beneath the uprooted redwood. The stormtroopers on the other side of the tree backed away from the crater of loose soil left behind by the Gorax, firing upward as they stepped back. Their movements were slow, and several of them tripped on the rough terrain. The Gorax raised its foot, and brought it down on them, smashing them into the earth with one great step. The air filled with the stench of burnt fur as the Gorax shrugged off the endless volley of blaster bolts. The trees snapped like twigs as it pushed its way between them, its wild eyes gleaming. By this time, it was so severely provoked, there was nothing the Imperial infantry could do to bring it down.

With the stormtroopers taking heavy casualties, the AT-ST walkers abandoned their pursuit of the retreating Sanyassan marauders. All four of them turned toward the more serious threat, aiming their blaster cannons up at the Gorax's head and neck. Two of the walkers converged on the Gorax at roughly the same time. They fired in unison, their shots sinking into the behemoth's collarbone area. The Gorax bellowed in pain. The walkers' blaster cannons were far more powerful than any handheld weapon, and the concentration of energy burned completely through its thick fur and the hide beneath. The Gorax focused its eyes on the walkers, and charged toward them. With its incredible stride, it was on top of the first AT-ST almost instantly. It leaned forward, and grabbed the walker by the legs with one hand. It clenched its fingers tightly, crushing the walker's spindly legs together, and stood, lifting the entire vehicle off the ground as though it weighed nothing at all. The crew inside the walker screamed helplessly as they rose through the air. The second AT-ST, less than fifty meters away, fired again, intent on putting the Gorax down for good. Their shot impacted on the Gorax's upper arm, prompting another ear-piercing scream. The Gorax glared down at them, and hurled the first AT-ST over its shoulder. The walker flew through the air and crashed to the ground. The cockpit exploded on impact, sending flames shooting out of the viewports and incinerating what remained of the crew.

The second AT-ST crew had no time to change position as the Gorax bore down on them. Before they could manage another shot, the beast scooped their walker up by the legs, just as it had done before. Instead of tossing them over its shoulder, however, the Gorax raised this AT-ST up over its head, then brought it down with lightning speed. The second AT-ST hit the ground and exploded as well, mercifully killing the crew before they had time to comprehend their doom. The Gorax released the mangled legs of the second walker, and cocked its head to one side. It had come to recognize the mechanical shuffling sound of the AT-ST walkers in motion, and its keen hearing had detected that sound again. The Gorax peered between the trees that remained standing, and saw two more AT-ST walkers closing in. Their crews had seen the unfortunate fate that had befallen their comrades, but were still determined to bring the Gorax down, or die trying. They aimed their weapons—this time utilizing their side-mounted concussion grenade launchers in conjunction with their blaster cannons—and fired. The burst sank into the Gorax's abdomen, causing its fur to jump outward as the grenades detonated. There was a splash of dark red blood in the air around the Gorax's midsection, and it doubled over, hissing and wheezing loudly. It was unmistakably wounded, and the wind had been knocked out of it, but if anything, it was even more enraged than before. The Gorax lunged at the two walkers, ignoring the fresh injuries it had sustained. It stretched out its arms, and picked both of them up simultaneously. There was nothing they could do to stop it; the notion that their legs could be vulnerable to the grip of a giant primate had not been a factor in their design. The Gorax held these two walkers out to either side of its body, then swung its arms together as if to clap its hands. The walkers were smashed together, exploding on impact like the others. The Gorax dropped what remained to the forest floor below, breathing deeply as it searched for more to destroy.

Han shook his head to break the trance-like state that had come over him. The Gorax was the largest living thing he had ever seen, and its violent movements were simply incredible to behold. Even so, the seemingly limitless strength of the beast would not win this battle for the Alliance. At most, it would only buy him some time. As he turned his attention to the bunker doors behind him, he hoped Lando would be able to do the same. His old friend had surely arrived by now, along with the rest of the fleet, and they would have no hope of victory until the shield generator was destroyed. Han examined the intricate arrangement of armored pipes and panels to the right of the blast doors, looking for the computer that would get them open again, but Leia found it first.

"The code's changed!" she announced. "We need Artoo!"

"Here's the terminal," Han barked, gesturing toward the recessed socket in the wall beside him. Leia raised her comm to her chin, and scanned the forest with her eyes as she summoned the trusty astromech.

"Artoo, where are you?" she called. "We need you at the bunker right away!"

Just a short distance from the edge of the clearing, R2-D2 and C-3PO remained where they had been since the Sanyassan ambush began. They were doing their best to remain out of sight, in order to avoid drawing the attention of the rampaging Gorax. Now, Leia's call for aid prompted R2-D2 to move out, his mission far more important than his own safety. He rolled away from his counterpart, chirping briefly as he went.

"Going?" C-3PO interpreted. "What do you mean, you're going?" R2-D2's only response was a dismissive series of beeps.

"Going where, Artoo?" C-3PO asked, but it was too late. R2-D2 was already accelerating away from him, traveling toward the bunker along the smoothest path he could find. "No, wait!" C-3PO called, shuffling after his companion. "Artoo! This is no time for heroics! Come back!"

Han spotted the droids as they emerged from the foliage and made their way toward the bunker entrance. He beckoned R2-D2 to move faster, and carefully watched the treeline for any stormtroopers who might have the droid in their sights. He was pleased to see that every stormtrooper in the area seemed to be focused entirely on the Gorax. The cacophony of blaster fire went on, but none of it was directed at the Rebels. Han watched R2-D2 draw closer, and felt another impact tremor rumbling through the ground. R2-D2 wobbled slightly, and turned his domed head as he continued to roll forward. The droid emitted a high-pitched squeal, and pushed himself to the limit, racing toward the bunker as fast as his wheeled legs would allow. At about the same time, C-3PO wailed in fear, a noise Han barely registered. He had little concern for what happened to the protocol droid—it was R2-D2 he couldn't afford to lose. He turned his head to see what had alarmed the little astromech, and had to crane his neck to look up. He froze, his eyes wide and his jaw hanging open. The Gorax had moved into the clearing again, and was staring right at him.


	21. Chapter 21

XXI

The space around the Death Star glittered with the remains of hundreds of TIE fighters, along with a handful of Rebel casualties. The pieces rotated and drifted idly in every direction, depending on which way their momentum had been carrying them when they were torn apart. Aboard the _Millennium Falcon_, Lando shook his head in dismay. The Alliance had a slight edge when it came to the skill and morale of its pilots, but the Empire had overwhelming numerical superiority. As the dogfights dragged on, those numbers whittled away at the Rebels' defenses. It seemed every time a TIE fighter was pulverized, two more roared into action to take its place, while the Rebels had no way to replenish losses of their own.

Lando reminded himself to pay attention to his instruments, glancing down every few seconds to make sure the _Falcon_ had a clear flight path. He was proud of his instincts as a pilot, but the _Falcon's_ sensors could pick up hazards that the naked eye could not. A black object against a black background could be impossible to see until it was too late, and a large enough piece of fuselage could easily take the _Falcon_ out of the fight—maybe for good. Lando kept a firm grip on the controls, the potentially fatal consequences of a distraction weighing heavily on his mind, and checked on Nien Nunb out of the corner of his eye. The Sullustan had the same determined bearing, and followed Lando's lead without question. Satisfied, Lando turned his attention back to the battle. He guided the Falcon along the starboard side of a nearby Corellian corvette, dodging blaster fire from the TIE fighters and interceptors that roared past him in the opposite direction. Although the _Falcon_ had been swarmed during the initial attack wave, and continued to draw fire every time an enemy ship passed by, Lando could see that her shields had exerted very little of their available energy. It seemed the Imperial pilots were focusing more intensely on the silhouettes they recognized—the X-Wing, Y-Wing, A-Wing, and B-Wing fighters—and making only halfhearted attempts to target the _Falcon_. Lando was thankful that the average TIE pilot did not contemplate the strategic value of destroying the fastest ship in the galaxy, but wasted no time celebrating. According to his scanners, the enemy ships were gunning for Wedge's X-Wing. Lando toggled the comm and quickly issued a warning.

"Watch yourself, Wedge!" he warned. "Three from above!"

"Red Three, Red Two, pull in," Wedge ordered.

"Got it!" Red Three replied. The call sign belonged to A-Wing pilot Sila Kott, who already had a pair of TIE interceptors on her tail. She brought her craft as close as she could to the port wing of a Mon Calamari star cruiser, planning to lose the enemy by darting between the bulbous protrusions on the surface of its hull. Unfortunately, the veteran TIE pilots were able to draw a bead on her before she could outmaneuver them. They fired, and her A-Wing exploded with a brilliant flash of yellow and orange. Before the flames consumed their tiny cloud of fuel, and were extinguished by the vacuum of space, Red Two brought his Y-Wing in close behind the TIE interceptors. It was too late for him to help Sila Kott, but he could still avenge her. He fired two bursts in quick succession, destroying both of the TIE interceptors before either had time to react.

"Three of them coming in, 20 degrees," Arvel Crynyd announced.

"Cut to the left. I'll take the leader," Wedge responded. Arvel obeyed, but Wedge was swarmed by yet another TIE interceptor element before he could assist. He veered across the hull of the _Home One_, with the interceptors in hot pursuit. He was able to make a turn more tightly than the leader, and cut him down with a barrage of red laser bolts. The TIE interceptor behind him angrily spat a volley past his starboard S-foils, and Wedge grimaced at the blinding green light. Those shots had only missed his X-Wing by a few meters, and even with his helmet's protective lenses, the barrage was causing him to see spots. He knew the Imperial pilot's anger was the only thing that had kept him alive, and made a quick decision to use that anger to his advantage. He guided his ship toward the underbelly of the _Home One_, flying toward a hollowed-out area in its hull. The indentation was somewhat obscured by a set of ovoid protrusions typical to Mon Calamari ships, but a pilot who was attuned to his surroundings could easily avoid it. Wedge suspected his pursuer would not be thinking that far ahead. He checked his instrument panel one more time, and his suspicions were confirmed. The TIE interceptor was still on his tail, focused so intently on the reddish hue of his sublight engines that he was oblivious to where he was going—or rather, being led. Wedge pulled away from the _Home One_ at the last possible moment, but the TIE interceptor did not. It smashed into the unyielding edge of the hull, exploding on impact.

As soon as Wedge was clear of the _Home One_, he scanned the horizon for Arvel. He quickly spotted the A-Wing belonging to Green Leader, with three TIE interceptors close behind. All four ships were zooming toward the _Redemption_, a Nebulon-B escort frigate modified by the Alliance to serve as a rudimentary hospital ship.

"They're heading for the medical frigate," Wedge relayed to Lando. Within moments, the _Falcon_ responded, destroying one of the interceptors with its dorsal quad laser cannon. The sudden convergence of Rebel aces forced the remaining two interceptors to veer away from Arvel and the _Redemption_.

"Pressure steady," Lando's dorsal gunner called out to him. Lando kept both TIE interceptors in view, giving his gunners ample time to guarantee their shots. Within moments, the ventral gunner fired, blowing the second interceptor to smithereens. The remaining TIE pilot fled to the other side of the _Redemption_, but Lando anticipated the move and stayed right on him. Not to be outperformed by his counterpart, the dorsal gunner opened fire again. The third TIE interceptor was caught out in the open, and was torn apart with ease. As Lando flew past its fragmented remains, he rotated the _Falcon_ to keep the surface of Endor below him, giving him the best possible view of the chaotic battle. Only then did he notice the fleet of Star Destroyers just a few kilometers ahead, with the dreaded _Executor_ at the head of their formation.

"Only the fighters are attacking," he mused, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I wonder what those Star Destroyers are waiting for." Unable to ignore the warning beeps from his instrument panel for long, he turned the _Falcon_ around to get back into the thick of the fighting. He knew something wasn't right, but there was no time to dwell on it now. _Once Han gets the shield down, it won't even matter_, he thought. _Those Star Destroyers will have one hell of a view when we take out that Death Star right before their eyes_.

Meanwhile, on the bridge of the _Executor_, Controller Jhoff double-checked the readouts on his monitor, ensuring that every Star Destroyer in the fleet was in position. His reports indicated the formation was practically flawless. The command ships were oriented directly toward the Rebel threat, with overlapping fields of fire to mow them down should they be foolish enough to approach. Jhoff looked over his shoulder, and was relieved to see Commander Merrejk standing in Admiral Piett's place. Ordinarily, Piett would be breathing down his neck, watching his every move and looking for any excuse to interrupt and criticize. Merrejk, on the other hand, tended to be more relaxed.

"We're ready, sir," Jhoff reported, using a more courteous tone than he would have with the admiral. Merrejk sucked in his breath, nodded, and turned away without another word. He walked to the trapezoidal windows where Admiral Piett stood, lengthening his stride to deliver the news as quickly as possible. Admiral Piett heard the clanking of his boots against the deck, but did not turn away from his splendid view of the battle. _I only need to hear him_, Piett thought. _I don't need to see his lips moving. Especially when history is in the making_. Another of Piett's subordinates, Commander Gherant, stood beside him. He, too, was enthralled by the thousands of tiny flashes of red and green in the distance, and the sporadic bursts of flame marking each casualty.

"We're in attack position now, sir," Merrejk announced, speaking loudly, but not yelling.

"Hold here," Piett replied, disappointment creeping into his expression as he pulled his eyes away from the battle. Gherant looked at him as if he'd just allowed a Wookiee onto the bridge.

"We're not going to attack?" he asked incredulously.

"I have my orders from the Emperor himself," Piett explained. "He has something special planned for them. We only need to keep them from escaping." With that, he turned back to the windows, having nothing further to say. Merrejk and Gherant exchanged surprised looks, but returned to their duties without another word.

In the Emperor's throne room, Vader stood with his feet planted firmly, shoulder width apart, and drew his lightsaber from his belt. His right thumb pressed down as soon as the hilt was clear of his body, and the red blade hissed to life. Vader felt a surge of adrenaline wash over him, and recognized that his artificial breathing had quickened to prepare him for combat. He pointed the tip of his blade at the man he had thought dead, prompting only an amused smirk from the hooded tyrant.

"It seems I am faced with a dilemma," Palpatine sneered. His yellow eyes darted from Vader to Luke, then back again. "Which do I punish first? Defiance...or treason?"

Memories of countless political executions rushed to the forefront of Vader's mind, and he felt an unshakable sense of terror as he imagined what his former master was preparing for his son. In the same moment, he realized that he did not fear the pain that would be inflicted on him; his fear was for Luke alone. He knew then what he had to do in order to salvage his failed assassination attempt. He would sacrifice himself to the Emperor in order to buy time for Luke to escape the Death Star. The Emperor would stand victorious, but Luke would live on. Vader's breathing and heart rate slowed as he made peace with his decision. He would die, and he would do it proudly.

"Luke," Vader began, taking a half-step forward and planting his foot again. "Run."

Luke, who had been staring at the Emperor in disbelief until his father's voice jarred him, was taken aback. He opened his mouth to argue, but Vader spoke again without looking back.

"Now!" Vader yelled, his voice booming throughout the shadowy throne room. Luke calculated the time it would take him to reach the turbolift, and instantly knew that obeying his father was his best chance for survival. But then, he thought of the disembodied voice that had commanded him to run from the first Death Star. Obi-Wan had sacrificed himself so he could escape, but as he relived the memory, he reminded himself that a fully trained Jedi Knight would not have had any need or desire to run that day. Now that his skills were complete, he would not allow it to happen again.

"No," Luke answered, drawing his own lightsaber from his belt. "I am a Jedi, like you were before—" He was interrupted by an invisible wall of energy that lifted him off his feet and hurled him backward, away from Vader and the Emperor. He grunted when his back thudded against the turbolift column, and put his hand behind him to push himself upright again. Before he could fully comprehend his father's actions, the metal catwalk between them groaned and crumpled. The narrow walkway was sheared away by the Force, along with the railings on either side. It tumbled down the vertical shaft at the center of the tower, a dull clanging noise echoing from below as it disappeared.

"It is for your own good, my son," Vader lamented. "Now go. Leave me." Without looking back, Vader stepped between Luke and Palpatine, deliberately blocking Palpatine's line of sight. He continued his regular breathing, knowing that every second he remained on his feet purchased another heartbeat for his son. Palpatine scowled, his eyes narrowing to yellow slits.

"You are unworthy of the name I gave you, Anakin Skywalker," he rasped. Vader remained still, his reaction inscrutable beneath his skull-like mask.

"I know," he replied at last, stepping forward as he brought his lightsaber in close to his body. He struck with the speed of a master swordsman, aiming for Palpatine's neck. Palpatine responded by flicking his wrist, flattening his right hand as one would wave off a small insect. Vader's body was hurled aside by the gesture, even more violently than Luke had been moments earlier. There was no time for him to think as he flew toward the wall of the throne room, his boots barely touching the floor as he went. He twisted at the waist, turning in midair just before he hit the wall. His armored left shoulder absorbed most of the impact, but then his entire body turned against his will, pressing him into the wall until his back was flat against it. He attempted to lean forward, but it was useless. He could not move his arms or legs, and soon lost his grip on his lightsaber. It tumbled to the floor, its red blade disappearing as soon as it left his hand. It was as if gravity itself had bent to the Emperor's will, and he had no way to resist.

Palpatine quietly took two steps forward, then turned right to face his former disciple. He grinned, exposing his crooked, blackened teeth. Then, he reached out with his right hand again, this time in the direction of the gaping hole where his staircase had once stood. The hideous sound of metal screeching against metal erupted from the darkness. Vader shifted his eyes, unable to turn his head, and saw the smoking remains of the Emperor's throne emerge from the gloom. The metal was warped, as though the outermost layer had been partially melted and allowed to solidify again. Its previously glossy surface had been replaced with layer of grainy, charred residue. In spite of the obvious damage, however, and the fact that it was lying on its crest rather than standing upright, it was still recognizable. It slid to the Emperor's side, screeching as it went, and stopped just beyond the reach of the chalky white fingers that had summoned it. Palpatine looked down at it fondly.

"If you want my throne," he said, extending his index finger, "I'll give it to you." With that, he flicked his wrist toward Vader. Vader flexed his muscles, both organic and artificial, tensing as the throne sped toward him. He winced as the screaming of metal on metal grew louder than ever before. None of this prepared him for the pain. The throne smashed into him, pinning his arms at his sides, and crushing his legs and hips. He bellowed in anguish, prompting a gleeful laugh from the Emperor. The circuits in his artificial limbs and torso sent overwhelming waves of electrical impulses through his nervous system, and he pressed his eyelids closed until the waves subsided. When he opened his eyes again, he could see that he was leaning forward, with his face and head over the mangled throne. His upper body was limp, and no longer pressed against the wall. It seemed he was exactly where the Emperor wanted him, and there was no need to hold him upright with the Force any longer.

"You thought this would be easy, didn't you?" Palpatine taunted, stepping up to the edge of his throne. The maniacal grin disappeared from his face, and his voice lowered. "You thought your pathetic improvised weapon would kill me. If only you could have kept your intentions hidden...you might have succeeded."

At this, Vader lifted his head. He said nothing, but he was desperate to know how the Emperor had divined his plot, in spite of his best efforts to conceal it. Palpatine inhaled deeply through his nostrils, as though savoring the aroma of a fine meal. The cold expression of his eyes did not change. "Ah, yes..." he groaned. "I could sense your devotion wavering ever since you returned from your first encounter with your offspring. I could foresee that you would attempt to destroy me. It was only a question of when and how."

Vader's head and shoulders slumped again. He could hear the truth, the conviction, in the Emperor's voice. He was just another pawn who had outlived his usefulness, like so many before him. All he could do now was endure the ridicule, and hope for it to go on until Luke was safely away.

"Now, your thoughts have become clear," Palpatine growled. "I should have left you behind all those years ago. My Empire would have been stronger had I let the rest of you burn!"

Vader watched as Palpatine extended a hand toward him. He had no choice but to remain still, and braced himself for another wave of pain. He clenched his jaw, silently vowing that he would not give the Emperor the pleasure of another scream. Palpatine gripped the top edge of Vader's chest panel with his fingertips, and pulled downward, ripping the entire device away. Vader gritted his teeth to fight through the agony that washed over him, and watched as the panel clattered to the floor. He looked down instinctively, but his mask and collar protruded too far to allow him to see his own torso. From his vantage point, all he could see were severed wires splayed out on top of the throne, and a tiny trickle of foul-smelling liquid along its curved surface. As he assessed the damage to the machines that had sustained him for so many years, he recognized that his field of vision was narrowing, like curtains slowly being closed. In that moment, he knew it was over. _It won't be long now_, he thought. He took shallow, unassisted breaths, and waited for death to take him.

"Now that we have reached the end," Palpatine announced, "I want you to think of your boy. Think of his face."

Vader struggled to block the image from his mind, knowing that the Emperor would only use it against him, but he couldn't help it. In his mind's eye, he saw Luke, and he could not help but feel a mixture of pride and sorrow. Palpatine smiled again. Somehow, he knew Vader's ability to resist had been broken.

"Know that I will make him pay the price for his role in this conspiracy," he swore angrily. "By the time I am finished, there will be less left of him than there was of you."

Vader embraced the rage welling up inside him, and found that not only did his pain subside, but he could take slightly deeper breaths on his own as well. He focused his mind, harnessing the power of the Force to address the Emperor without gasping.

"He remained hidden from both of us all his life," Vader rumbled. "Search for him all you like. He will grow stronger. He will be the most powerful Jedi ever...and by the time you find him...he will want you to."

"You're wrong, father," Luke called from above. Vader's fading breath caught in his throat. The Emperor looked up toward the source of the noise. Luke stood on the catwalk above them, having used it to circumvent the artificial chasm created by his father. "I will not run," he said proudly.

Palpatine sensed Vader's hope fading, and laughed. "If only he was wise enough to plan so far ahead," he gloated. He stepped away from Vader, leaving him slouched over the ruined throne and ignoring the soft, weak breaths puffing through his mask. Palpatine walked to the section of the catwalk that had fallen to the floor, and stepped onto it. The metal chirped as it pulled itself off the floor, lifting Palpatine up into the air. Palpatine shifted his weight slowly, waiting patiently for the damaged ends of the catwalk to join themselves together once more. In seconds, it was done. He calmly stepped onto the section of the catwalk that was still supported, and the piece that had lifted him dropped away, crashing into the floor and what remained of the staircase. Luke ignored the pounding of his heart, and ignited his lightsaber, pointing its blue blade at Palpatine's chest. He understood now why Vader wanted him to run. Vader believed his plot had failed, that there could be no chance of killing the Emperor now that they'd lost the element of surprise. Luke intended to prove him wrong. He felt adrenaline coursing through his veins, and sensed the power of the Force flowing through him. He was done running. He had come to kill the Emperor, and nothing short of death was going to stop him.

"I did not expect another attempt on my life so soon," Palpatine said sarcastically. He strode confidently toward Luke, balancing perfectly on the narrow catwalk, moving at a brisk pace as though the lightsaber posed no threat to him at all.

"We tend to be unpredictable," Luke hissed. "Runs in the family." He saw that with one more step, Palpatine would be within striking distance. As soon as Palpatine's foot left the ground, he made his move. He thrust forward, gripping the hilt of his lightsaber tightly with both hands. He put his body weight into the thrust, expecting the tip of his blade to burn a neat hole right through the Emperor's heart. Palpatine reached out and grasped the blade of pure energy with his bare hand, wrapping his fingers around the beam of blue-tinged light. Luke froze, unable to accept what he was seeing, but it was unfolding before him whether he accepted it or not. _No wonder he had no fear of being attacked with a lightsaber_, he thought. _To him, it's nothing but a toy_. Palpatine grinned, and turned the blade aside, staring right into Luke's eyes as he did it. Luke kept his hands on the hilt, but found them moving passively in the direction Palpatine guided them. He felt like he was in a trance. He could not break away from Palpatine's soulless yellow eyes, and he could not help but be manipulated like a puppet on strings. Then, the Emperor grew tired of playing with him. He tightened his grip on the blade, causing tendons to bulge beneath his chalky white wrist, and pulled. The lightsaber slipped effortlessly out of Luke's two-handed grip, its blade disappearing as it rolled off the edge of the catwalk and clattered to the floor below.

As soon as he was disarmed, Luke felt his primal instincts take over, and found himself wishing he had made his escape when it was first offered to him. In his state of panic, with indecision dominating his mind, he unwittingly made himself even more vulnerable. Palpatine must have read his thoughts, for his first move was to torment Luke.

"Young fool," he snarled. "Your feeble skills are no match for the power of the dark side!" He extended his crooked fingers, giving Luke only a fraction of a second to brace himself. Jagged bolts of lightning leapt from Palpatine's fingertips, striking Luke from head to toe. Luke collapsed, his muscles seizing, and screamed. Palpatine did not relent, pouring a constant flow of electricity into Luke's writhing body. After what felt like an eternity to Luke, the Force lightning subsided. Palpatine bent forward at the waist, relishing the sounds Luke made as he gasped for breath.

"Only now, at the end, do you understand," Palpatine taunted. With that, the lightning flashed to life again, and Luke screamed uncontrollably. Palpatine allowed several seconds to pass, then paused again. Luke weakly tried to push himself away from the Emperor, managing to crawl only a few inches before his tortured muscles gave out. Palpatine took a step forward, with the same cold determination of a venomous snake slithering after a bitten rodent.

"This is your destiny," he announced. "You—like your father—are now _mine_." The lightning hit Luke again, blinding him to everything except his pain. Luke's back arched, and his feet kicked out involuntarily, but it was just enough to move his body toward the edge of the catwalk. Unfortunately, the edge he was moving toward faced the turbolift column, and beneath it was the vertical shaft running straight down the center of the tower. When the lightning disappeared again, Luke quickly weighed his options. He knew the fall would be lethal, but anything was preferable to the Emperor's punishment. Never in his life had he suffered so much crippling pain. He limped backward, summoning all of his remaining strength to wrap his right arm around the last support beam before the sheer edge. He worked the support beam into the crook of his elbow, and pulled. The Emperor loomed over him, still holding his fingers in position to unleash their deadly flow of electricity.

"You should have listened to him, and run while you had the chance," Palpatine said, his voice dripping with false pity.

"I'm not going to run," Luke snapped, "And I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of killing me slowly."

Palpatine's eyes flickered to the edge of the catwalk, recognizing the sheer drop beyond, and his brow furrowed. For a moment, Luke thought he sensed a hint of surprise. It quickly disappeared, though, as Palpatine composed himself. "I can sense your fear, boy," Palpatine replied. "You lack the courage to do it."

Luke felt the pain of the Force lightning subside. His muscles ached horribly, but something else took over his mind, something indescribably serene and peaceful. Luke's eyes were drawn to a point behind the Emperor, at the edge of the throne room. At first, nothing about the far wall stood out to him, not even the giant, circular window at its center. Then, it came into focus, and he saw the tiny hairline cracks in the glass. The explosion had done just enough damage to compromise the heavily armored panes. Luke realized that if he reached out with the Force, he could break it. He glared up at the Emperor, and poured his rebellious attitude into his voice.

"I'll die on my own terms, Your Highness. I proved that to my father long ago." He remembered his ill-fated duel with Vader, ending with a fall that could have easily been his last. "The only thing I fear," he added, "is leaving behind a galaxy controlled by _you_. That's why I'm going to take you with me."

Just as Luke finished speaking, he flexed the fingers of his right hand, guiding the Force toward the Emperor's window. The cracks spread, making the telltale sound of brittle material about to give way. Palpatine sensed Luke's intent, and his yellow eyes bulged.

"NO!" Palpatine roared. He interrupted Luke the only way he knew how: with pain. He raised his foot, and brought it down on Luke's injured left shoulder with all his might. There was a wet slapping noise as the Emperor smashed his foot into the open incision made by his Royal Guard's force pike. He held it there, ignoring Luke's screams, his attention entirely focused on the cracked window. He listened carefully, suppressing the tickle of excitement he felt as Luke's warm blood soaked through his footwear and wet the skin between his toes. His quick thinking had worked; the throne room would not be opened to the vacuum of space today. Palpatine's heart rate returned to normal, and he turned his attention to the prey beneath his foot. He lifted his weight off of Luke's shoulder, and stood back, raising his hands for one more volley.

"Now, young Skywalker...you will die," he promised. He called out to the dark side, and the lightning surged forth.

Vader heard the crackle of electricity, accompanied by screams of agony, but to him the noise was faint, as though the commotion was hundreds of meters away. He felt broken, as though every meaningful thing in his life had been swept away. His plan had unfolded perfectly, and failed. His sacrifice for his son amounted to naught. The Emperor had beaten them both. He watched the fluid trickle slowly out of his torso, and felt the dull pounding of his heart as it struggled to work without the assistance of his life-sustaining armor. Out of the corner of his eye, at the edge of the haze that was slowly closing in, he saw something else. It was liquid, dripping onto the throne from above. He inhaled with all his might, with the hope that he might stay conscious long enough to recognize it. He crumbled inside the moment he discerned its vivid red color. It was Luke's blood.


	22. Chapter 22

XXII

Commander Igar stared at the comm in front of him with horror in his eyes. The anguished screams and cries for backup streaming through it were the worst he'd ever heard. Although he stood in the cockpit of his AT-AT with a commanding view of the forest floor below, he felt more weak and powerless than he had on his first day at the academy. His brothers were being decimated out there, and he was stuck near the landing platform, unable to maneuver his enormous AT-AT through the trees to reach them. For the time being, he had no choice but to march his walker along the edge of the clearing, searching desperately for a path to the bunker. The screaming from the comm was suddenly cut off, overridden by a signal from the bunker itself.

"Major Hewex to all units," the announcement began. "We're taking heavy casualties. All scouts and walkers, break down the perimeter and converge on the rear entrance immediately."

Commander Igar was struck by a sudden burst of inspiration. He reached forward and toggled the comm.

"Igar to Hewex," he replied. "_Tempest 1_ is en route." He leaned forward to address the pilot and gunner seated side-by-side in front of him. "Get us there," he hissed.

"Yes, sir!" the pilot acknowledged, his voice slightly distorted by his helmet. He pulled on the controls, turning the _Tempest 1_ as quickly as he could. The walker rotated quickly for such a heavily armored vehicle, especially given its height. Soon, the chaos at the bunker's rear entrance was visible through the command viewport. Unfortunately, Igar and his crew were still faced with the same problem that had kept them out of the battle for so long: the trees. Igar's gunner gave voice to his concern first.

"Sir, there's no path. We don't have a way forward!" he cried.

"Then we'll make one," Igar replied sternly. "Target the trees. Five percent firepower!"

Red bolts shot out from the cannons mounted beneath the AT-AT cockpit as Igar's gunner opened fire. The bolts struck the nearest tree trunks, felling the trees with explosions of laser energy and wood splinters. The _Tempest 1_ stepped forward and fired again. With each volley, more of Endor's ancient redwoods fell, bringing Igar a clearer view of the impossibly huge biped in the distance. He had never seen such a giant creature—not even during the subjugation of Kashyyyk—but he suspected the creature had never had an AT-AT bearing down on it, either. He checked his instrument panel to ensure the blaster cannons had enough remaining power to take the beast down when they reached it. He saw that the energy cells were recharging quickly enough, and turned his attention back to the viewport. There was no need for him to issue any further commands. His crew operated with the near-perfect synchronization that came from years of combat experience, with his gunner maintaining a constant rate of fire, and his pilot moving the walker forward as quickly as its four legs would carry it.

Standing outside the bunker itself, Han stared up at the Gorax in awe. He allowed his right arm to dangle at his side, knowing that his blaster pistol would only provoke Endor's titan further. He could feel in his gut that no matter what he did, he could not escape. If he ran, the Gorax would reach down and scoop him up long before he could get to cover. _And then I'm a snack_, he thought. He gulped nervously, unable to break eye contact with the towering monstrosity. Then, he heard the _thrum_ of blaster cannon fire, and the sound of wood being snapped and splintered. He adjusted his gaze, and saw an AT-AT walker approaching the Gorax from behind. It had come from the direction of the landing platform, obliterating every tree in its path. Severed roots crunched beneath its feet as it closed in on its target. The Gorax must have heard it, too, for its triangular ears perked up, and it turned its head to study this new threat. Han clapped his left hand over his ear, and turned the right side of his head away as the Gorax issued a challenging roar. When he looked back up, he saw the Gorax adjusting its stance to face the AT-AT. It rolled its shoulders back, making itself appear even larger, and beat its own chest with its fists. Han subconsciously recognized that the Gorax saw the AT-AT as a rival—understandable, given the walker's animal-like appearance—and backed up toward the blast doors. He had a feeling that he did not want to be out in the open for what was about to happen.

Commander Igar hesitated only briefly when the Gorax made its aggressive display. Its eyes displayed the primal fury of an agitated alpha male, but he also recognized the human-like intelligence behind them. It seemed that the Gorax was wondering why its new rival had a viewport where its eyes should be. Igar raised his eyebrow, making a mental note to document his observations in his report later. He would waste no more time analyzing the creature that had killed so many of his men.

"Center mass! Fire!" he ordered. His gunner obeyed, pressing the controls without delay. In the time it took him to open fire, however, the Gorax decided to intimidate its enemy by showing off its strength again. It reached for the nearest tree, wrapped its clawed fingers around it, and pulled it down, baring its fangs aggressively and maintaining perfect eye contact. The tree fell between the Gorax and the _Tempest 1_, absorbing the cannon fire and exploding in a shower of wood splinters. The Gorax stepped back, rubbing the splinters out of its stinging eyes with the back of one hand. It growled menacingly, finally recognizing the power of its armor-plated enemy.

"Fire again!" Igar barked, but it was too late. The Gorax shifted its weight onto one leg, and began to run to the side, churning up a fountain of dirt and leaves as it dug into the ground for traction. The gunner's shot went wide, and by the time Igar's crew moved the head of the _Tempest 1_ laterally to compensate, the Gorax had already disappeared from view, concealed by the trees that remained standing along their starboard side. Igar gripped the bulkhead in front of him until his knuckles turned white. He was not about to let this animal escape, no matter how frightening it might be to mere infantry.

Han watched the Gorax move out of the path of the AT-AT's cannons, and sprint into the woods, moving impossibly fast for something so huge. He was amazed at the devastation it had caused in such a short time, but now that it was gone, there was nothing standing between him and the AT-AT walker. His eyes focused on the head of the AT-AT as it turned forward again, its blaster cannons pointed right at him. He spun on his heel and grabbed Leia by the shirtsleeve.

"We've got to go," he shouted. "Now!" Leia took a tentative step forward, then stopped. Han inhaled sharply, prepared to stress the urgency of finding a new position, but the expression on her face made him stop in his tracks. She was looking over his shoulder, with her lips slightly parted and her eyes wide with astonishment.

"Han," she gasped, "Look."

He spun around to see what could possibly be more compelling than getting out of the line of fire. Only then did he realize the ground was shaking beneath his feet—and it was not coming from the walker. The Gorax was coming back toward the starboard side of the AT-AT at a dead sprint. It was leaning forward at the waist, swinging its long, furry arms and batting fully grown redwood trees aside as if they were twigs. Han involuntarily held his breath, somehow knowing that he would never see anything so marvelous again, and he was not disappointed. The Gorax slammed into the _Tempest 1_ at full speed, its shoulder impacting squarely against the side of the walker's body. The sound of metal crumpling and giving way echoed through the trees. The force of the impact brought the two starboard legs of the _Tempest 1_ completely off the ground. It listed helplessly, crashing against the trees along its port side. It remained there until the Gorax took a single step back, bent its knees, and slammed into it again. This time, the impact went through the ruined body, and into the trees themselves, toppling them. They fell to the ground, followed immediately by the _Tempest 1_. The Gorax bellowed triumphantly, and slammed its knee down into the prone AT-AT. It gripped the head of the walker between its hands, and lifted it up off the ground. Its mechanical neck joints groaned and popped, but the Gorax did not yield. Han saw no more blaster fire from the chin-mounted blaster cannons, and figured the crew must have been concussed by the impact. It was probably a mercy, for the Gorax's next move was to slam the AT-AT head down into the ground with all of its strength. The soil was loose beneath the head of the walker, and although the cannons were bent and ruined, the cockpit's sloped armor plating allowed it to keep its shape. The Gorax had no reason to care. It slammed the head down again and again, pulverizing the crew within.

Although still engrossed by the Gorax, Han registered the tinny voice of a protocol droid behind him. "We're coming!" the voice cried. Han glanced over his shoulder, and recognized C-3PO and R2-D2 drawing near. He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to send R2-D2 to the computer terminal. As the droids made their way to the blast doors, Han kept his attention focuesd on the Gorax. It was still preoccupied with the remains of the AT-AT, staring down at the crumpled side panels with curiosity in its eyes. It appeared to be studying something, although Han could not discern what it was. Then, a single blaster bolt erupted from the AT-AT's side, a final gesture of defiance by a surviving stormtrooper trapped in the wreckage. The bolt fizzled harmlessly against the Gorax's thick fur, but that tiny shot provoked a new wave of anger. The Gorax stepped back, growling through its bared fangs. It gripped one of the AT-AT's legs, and pulled until it was sheared away from the undercarriage by brute force alone. The Gorax took the leg by its severed end, and swung it like a flail, bringing the thick foot pad down on the troop compartment. It pounded away at the walker until the body was nearly flattened into the earth, then kept pounding, as if to send a warning message to any that came across its remains. There was no second shot from the blaster.

"Artoo's at the door," Leia said, breaking Han's concentration. He looked down, and nodded at her.

"I think it's totaled," he quipped, nodding his head toward the AT-AT. Leia smiled, and gestured toward the bunker with the muzzle of her blaster. Han followed her, smiling as he imagined their imminent victory. He risked one more glance at the Gorax, thinking of all the free drinks he could earn sharing that story._ I'll never have to pay my tab again_, he mused. Then, the Gorax looked up from the wreckage of the walker, and Han's smirk evaporated. _Uh-oh_, he thought. _There'll be no one to stop it this time_. The Gorax tore the walker's thick, cylindrical foot away from its leg, and hurled it toward him like a discus. He dove to one side as the edge of the AT-AT foot gouged the earth where he'd just been standing. The foot continued on its path, bouncing off the ground and spinning through the air toward the blast doors. Han had just enough time to see that Leia, Chewbacca, and C-3PO were clear of its path, but R2-D2 was not so lucky. The walker's foot only glanced him as it went by, but it was enough to rip through his cylindrical body, and break his connection to the computer terminal. R2-D2 uttered an electronic scream, and toppled over, sparks flying from his exposed innards.

"Oh! Goodness!" C-3PO exclaimed. "Artoo! Why did you have to be so brave?" R2-D2's only response was a whimper.

Han wasted no time tending to the droids as he rushed toward the bunker, the remaining Rebels close behind. The severed foot of the AT-AT had struck the seam of the blast doors, tearing a hole large enough for even Chewbacca to fit through. The terrifying power of the Gorax had paid off. Han dove for the opening, knowing better than to be distracted by the Gorax again. As soon as he made it through, he stepped forward to make room for the others, and aimed his blaster down the corridor. Leia and Chewbacca were the next to get in, followed by the remnants of the strike team. As soon as they had all filed into the corridor, they began taking blaster fire. The few stormtroopers that remained inside the bunker had not taken kindly to the Gorax's impromptu battering ram. The Rebels pressed themselves against the walls of the corridor, using the bulkheads as cover. Leia was reminded of her cell block on the first Death Star, and knew they wouldn't be able to maintain that position for long. Since time was not on their side, she knew she had to act fast. She looked for the closest member of the strike team behind her, and was relieved to see it was Sergeant Squalls. As one of the team's demolitions experts, he carried nearly enough explosives to bring down the shield generator singlehandedly. She held out her hand expectantly, and he glanced down at it, then back up at her.

"Rancor special," she said calmly. Like the rest of the strike team, Squalls had heard Leia's story, and understood the reference immediately. He reached into his satchel, and slapped a thermal detonator into her hand with the switch facing her thumb. She reached over to Han, and tapped him on the shoulder with it. "This should speed things up," she remarked. He looked at her like she was crazy.

"I love you," he said with a boyish grin.

"I know," she replied. Han holstered his blaster and took the detonator in his right hand, rotating the thumb switch so it would go off within seconds of being thrown. He brought his arm back, curled his lip, and flung it down the center of the corridor. As soon as his hands were free, he clapped them over his ears, squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed himself into the wall as hard as he could. The other Rebels followed suit. There was a muffled shout from the end of the corridor as one of the stormtroopers recognized the device, but they had no time to throw it back. The blast simultaneously robbed the Rebels of their equilibrium, and the Imperials of their lives.

Han and Chewbacca stepped out into the corridor, shaking their heads and coughing at the acrid smoke that hung in the air. They kept their weapons at contact ready, and moved slowly, checking behind each bulkhead for survivors. By the time they reached the end of the corridor, they saw exactly what they had expected. The remains of three squads of stormtroopers littered the floor, walls, and ceiling. None of their weapons or armor were useable, and the soldiers themselves could not be identified by what was left of them. The blast had torn all of them to shreds. Han averted his eyes, having seen enough carnage to last him a lifetime, and beckoned his team forward to the shield generator control room.

Colonel Dyer startled when he felt the detonation reverberate through the metal floor. He looked around the corridor in which he sat as if seeing it for the first time, then wiped away the tears that still clung to his eyelashes. He heard the doors to the control room slide open, followed by hushed voices. He cocked his head to listen more closely. They clearly did not belong to Lieutenant Renz, or any other officer he recognized. From their tone and their quiet footsteps, he could tell they were clearing the room. Dyer sighed quietly, all doubt erased from his mind. His men were dead, and the Rebels had taken the control room. Soon, the entire shield generator complex would be at their mercy. Dyer's gaze fell to his blaster pistol, still lying on the floor where he had allowed it to fall. He knew his career was over, given what the Rebels had accomplished. He also knew that he lacked the courage to take his own life—otherwise, he would have done it already. That left only one option. He would have the Rebels do it for him. He leaned forward, and picked up his blaster with trembling hands.

Han surveyed the control room, looking carefully for any surface that did not already have an explosive charge attached to it. As it turned out, there was nothing for him to critique. His team worked flawlessly, placing the devices where they would be sure to rupture the shield generator's power supply and set off a chain reaction. As the Rebels finished their work, Han's eyes went up to the ceiling, which was barely low enough for him to brush it with his fingertips. _Might as well_, he thought. "Throw me another charge!" he ordered. Squalls tossed a metal canister to him, and he pressed it onto the ceiling, giving the dial on its tip a counter-clockwise twist to synchronize it with the others. Just as he took his eyes off the charge, something punched him in the back, just under his right shoulder blade. There was no pain, but it forced the air out of his lungs, and he found himself unable to draw in a new breath. A look of confusion crossed his face, just as he felt another hit, this one closer to his spine. The echo of blaster fire rang in his ears, and his legs buckled. He felt intense heat radiating through his body from the two points of impact, and he knew he'd been shot. He looked over at Leia, and saw the shock in her eyes. A tiny part of his subconscious knew that her face would be the last thing he would ever see. He tried to smile, to show her he had accepted it, that he wouldn't have traded his time with her for anything...but his body was no longer his own. Han felt nothing as his lifeless body collapsed on the cold, metal floor.

"No!" Leia screamed. She felt sick to her stomach, and fell against a nearby terminal, her hands barely catching her. She had never felt more helpless, not even in the final moments of Alderaan's existence. She had fought her way through hell to rescue Han, and would have attacked anyone who tried to keep them apart, but now, it was over. Han was... "No!" she screamed again. _It can't be!_ she thought, her mind racing. _It just isn't possible!_ But there was no denying it now. Han was dead at her feet. She fought to regain her bearings, and stared up at the uniformed Imperial officer at the far end of the control room. He still held his blaster in front of him, and looked around the room as if he couldn't believe what he'd done. Leia was filled with rage as her eyes met his. With that rage, she felt more focused, more aware, than she had ever been before. It seemed that the entire galaxy had slowed to a crawl, and everything would shape itself to her will if she wished it so. _This must be what Luke feels_, Leia thought. _This is the Force._ She had no idea how she knew, but that didn't matter. Without looking down, she drew her blaster from its holster, and felt—not saw, but felt—the path from her muzzle to the tip of the Imperial officer's nose. Guided by the power of the Force, Leia raised her hand.

Dyer saw the female Rebel aiming her blaster at him, and instinctively responded with his own weapon. _I got one already_, Dyer thought. _Might as well take another with me_. He saw the focus, the intensity, in the woman's eyes, and curled his finger inside the trigger guard. Before he could squeeze off a third shot, there was a sudden pressure on his right arm, as if someone had clamped it in a giant vise. Dyer's blaster clattered to the floor, and he looked down at his outstretched arm. Two limbs, covered in brown and black fur, were wrapped around it. In the next instant, he heard a dull, wet _crack_, and what felt like an electric shock fired up his arm and through the right side of his neck. Dyer screamed, and traced the path of the shaggy limbs to see who, or what, they belonged to. As he looked up, the only thing he could see was a set of sharp fangs, gleaming white, in a mouth ringed by the same dark fur. Dyer tried to recoil, but his attacker still had his arm in that impossible vise grip, and a fresh jolt of pain confirmed that his arm was broken. _Oh_, Dyer thought in a moment of surreal clarity. _It's a Wookiee_.

Chewbacca roared and whipped Dyer around by the right arm, relishing the popping and cracking noises as the bones between the wrist and shoulder crumbled. Dyer screamed, but Chewbacca was too overwhelmed with rage to care. The Wookiee had the strength of a berserker, and allowed his thirst for vengeance to dominate his every move. He reached as far as he could in one direction, then flung Dyer back the opposite way, prompting another agonized scream from the scrawny colonel. Blood seeped through Dyer's sleeve, and the end of his arm below Chewbacca's grip dangled like a dead snake. Shards of splintered bone protruded through the blood-stained tunic. Chewbacca lifted Dyer high up in the air by his ruined arm, keeping his grip tight as warm blood rushed over his fingers. He then threw his enemy down onto the metal floor, face-first. Dyer cried out weakly, and rolled onto his back, sniffing and coughing as blood ran up his broken nose and into his throat. He lifted his left hand off the ground, perhaps to beg for mercy, or to show regret for choosing this end for himself. Chewbacca felt a new wave of fury wash over him, and roared again, numbed to all pain by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Leia stepped forward, her heart pounding with anger, and locked eyes with Chewbacca. In that instant, both Leia and Chewbacca saw expressions they had never seen on one another before. They had both lost the one who was most dear to them in all the galaxy. In that moment, completely detached from all thoughts of consequence, there was only one thing that mattered: revenge. Leia looked down on Colonel Dyer, who in his final moments was still fighting to stay conscious. She sensed that he did not want to die, and that he would do anything to run far way, leaving his past and his uniform behind. She raised her blaster, and centered it between his eyes. She lined her sights up perfectly, and squeezed the trigger again and again, ignoring the ringing in her ears from Chewbacca's triumphant screams.

The next few minutes were a blur to Leia. She remembered Chewbacca taking her by one shoulder, and another camouflaged Rebel taking her by the other. They dragged her out of the control room, and although she could not remember fighting them, she knew deep down that they had to use all their strength to extricate her from the bunker. Her next memory placed her out in the forest again, hunkered down behind a massive berm. Chewbacca had laid his thick, heavy arm across her body to hold her against the ground. She kept screaming, and fought to stand, but her efforts were in vain. An explosion shook the earth beneath her, and she finally stopped screaming and came to terms with what that explosion meant. Chewbacca gently lifted his arm off of her, and she stared at the trees above for several seconds, watching them sway back and forth as the blast wave rocked them. When the ringing in her ears subsided, she stood and looked back at the remains of the bunker. There was nothing left but a trail of black smoke, billowing out of a tunnel with red-hot, melted walls. Her eyes went to the horizon, beyond the bunker. The towering dish that once stood there, pointed up toward the Death Star, had been completely obliterated. Leia blinked tears out of her eyes. The shield generator was gone, and with it, the love of her life.


	23. Chapter 23

XXIII

Vader stared at the pool of blood forming on the throne in front of him, unable to look away. The pool grew larger with each droplet that fell from above, the soft patter of each impact inaudible over the sound of Luke's screams. For the first time in many years, Vader felt completely numb. His gaze was fixed on the bright red puddle in front of him, the sight of it overwhelming every other impulse from his body. He no longer felt the weight of the throne pressing him into the wall, or the pain from his damaged life-support systems. He didn't even feel the Force anymore—the bubbling undercurrent of rage that allowed him such easy access to the dark side was gone. He was a broken man, powerless to do anything but come to terms with his fate before death took him. _I deserve this_, he realized. _For everything I have done...I deserve all this, and more_. He took another shallow breath, let it out, and made himself look away from the blood. His eyes went down, to the panel that had been torn away from his chest, and the mess of wires and circuitry that were scattered around it. Averting his eyes did nothing to soothe him, as he had no way to prevent Luke's anguished screams from reaching his ears. _I deserve to suffer and die_, Vader thought, _but my son does not_. With that thought came a spark of inspiration, and a wave of energy he knew all too well. His vision became clear once more, his heartbeat sped up, and he felt free to take in a deep, full breath, even without the aid of his armor. The Force was with him again.

Vader surveyed the broken panel in front of him, and closed his eyes. No ordinary man would be able to make sense of its scattered pieces, especially not with his son's life hanging in the balance. However, Vader had a unique advantage. In that moment, a memory came to him from a past life, from a time before his helmet and mask defined him. He remembered himself sitting across from Obi-Wan Kenobi, a nondescript table between them. Obi-Wan was young, his hair still brown, but the look in his eyes conveyed the wisdom of a much older man. Arrayed on the table were dozens of tiny pieces of metal, each with a unique design and purpose. At the center of it all was a perfectly shaped crystal, light blue in color. It rested on a fine cloth, untarnished by the oils of human fingertips. He remembered his nervous anticipation, and the excitement he felt when he looked up at Obi-Wan and received a permissive nod. _You are ready, Anakin_, he'd said. _You may begin_. He remembered how quickly the pieces had levitated off the table, how they had assembled themselves as if magnetically drawn to their positions. Obi-Wan had been unable to hide his surprised expression. Vader remembered looking his old master in the eye as he moved the pieces with his mind, making them close around the blue crystal. His stress was gone, replaced by a surge of confidence and pride. His first lightsaber was complete. As the memory replayed itself, Vader felt as if Obi-Wan was still sitting across from him, waiting for him to begin. _Impossible_, he thought. Even so, he opened his eyes, just to be sure. He saw nothing there, but he could still feel his old master's presence. He took another breath, closed his eyes again, and focused his mind. The pieces of his broken life-support systems trembled almost imperceptibly, and began to move.

On the catwalk above, Luke screamed through gritted teeth, feeling the shock of Palpatine's Force lightning in every muscle and every bone. He pressed his eyelids shut, and saw spots of every color flash behind them. Each second felt like an eternity, but there was nothing he could do to fight it. Unable to fight, and unwilling to give up, he did the only thing he could do. He drew a lungful of air, screamed until his throat was raw, and waited for the pain to end. At last, the lightning disappeared, as it had done several times before. Luke listened for Palpatine's voice, knowing that the vengeful dictator would not have stopped unless he wanted to be heard.

"It is unfortunate that you have thrown away your life, young Skywalker," Palpatine taunted. "You could have been my greatest asset. Instead, you chose to be my enemy. And for what? The approval of your dead father?"

Luke summoned what little strength he had left to raise his head, and look the Emperor in the eye. He knew he would soon be dead, and was determined to resist until the very end.

"This wasn't for him," Luke replied. "This was for every Jedi Knight he helped you destroy. For Obi-Wan. For Master Yoda."

The Emperor bristled at these words, and for the first time, Luke saw a hint of surprise on his wrinkled face.

"Yoda is alive?" Palpatine growled, lowering his hands.

"Not anymore," Luke admitted, lowering his gaze as he remembered his master's last moments. Palpatine smiled, saying nothing. At first, Luke thought it was smugness, an internal celebration of Yoda's death. Then, Luke saw the predatory look in his eyes. It was an unsettling expression that did not match the smile at all, and it left a feeling of dread in the pit of Luke's stomach.

"This is a momentous occasion, boy," Palpatine announced, his voice full of psychotic cheer. "Those who studied the dark side before me dreamed of this moment...but never before has it come to pass. _I_ am going to kill the very last Jedi in the galaxy." As he finished his sentence, Palpatine stepped forward. A primitive voice in Luke's mind screamed at him to run, but he couldn't even bring himself to crawl. The most he could manage was to scoot a few centimeters on his back before Palpatine was standing over him.

"No weapon will do this moment justice," Palpatine continued, his eyes alight with hellfire. "And to use the Force would deny me the pleasure of feeling your life slip away." With that, he stepped over Luke's prone body, and knelt down, pressing his bony kneecaps into the pockets of Luke's shoulders. Luke grimaced and cried out as he felt the pressure on his open wound, but he could not move away; his arms and legs felt like they were full of lead. He took several quick breaths, concentrating all of his energy into one last retort.

"Finally ready to get your hands dirty, Your Highness?" he asked contemptuously. Palpatine wrapped his icy fingers around Luke's throat, and squeezed. He locked his elbows, putting all of his body weight into his hands. Luke tried to gasp for air, but nothing went into his lungs. He looked into Palpatine's eyes again, and saw that their bright yellow color had disappeared. Now, each iris was a plain, blue color. Palpatine had let go of his connection to the Force, but that did not change his terrifying look of excitement. Luke felt pins and needles across the skin of his face, and the agonized pulsing of his heart as it struggled to supply oxygenated blood to his brain. Although he could not see it, his lips were turning a morbid shade of blue, and the tiny blood vessels in and around his eyes were beginning to burst.

"I have dedicated my life to destroying every follower of your pathetic religion," Palpatine sneered. "Now, I will kill the very last of your ancient Order...and I need no lightsaber to do it."

The next thing Luke heard was a sickening, wet _thwack_, like a meat cleaver sinking into a slaughtered calf.

"Nor do I," Vader snarled. Luke felt the tension on his neck disappear, and his vision came back into focus. As he coughed and gasped for breath, he glanced up to see Palpatine's mouth hanging open in shock. Palpatine's blue eyes were wide with fear, and his chalky white hands were trembling uncontrollably. Luke felt confusion, and realized there was something blocking his view of the Emperor's face. He blinked the tears out of his eyes, and it came into focus. It was a blade, almost half a meter in length, with a razor-sharp edge—and it was sticking out of Palpatine's chest.

Vader stood behind the Emperor, his regular breathing restored. The panel on his chest was badly cracked, and it no longer lit up, but its internal components were reassembled perfectly. Vader kept a tight grip on the Force pike he had scavenged from below. He had stabbed Palpatine through the heart, but he was not finished. He lifted the Force pike with both hands, keeping Palpatine impaled on the blade, and threw the body down on the catwalk next to Luke. As soon as Luke was out of the way, Vader pulled the blade out of Palpatine's back. He aimed for the base of Palpatine's neck, and stabbed downward. The blade crunched through Palpatine's spine, skull and brain, exiting through the bridge of his nose and embedding itself in the hard surface of the catwalk. When the blade found its mark, a burst of howling wind erupted from Palpatine's body. It had a ghostly blue tinge, as if it carried the souls of hundreds of slain Jedi with it. It seemed to billow out from the black robes, and from the corpse itself, flowing in every direction. It tugged at Vader's cape, and whistled down the shaft at the center of the tower. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. Vader looked down at the pale corpse at his feet, and the fresh pool of blood rapidly expanding beneath it. He took several breaths as he stood there, perfectly still, almost unable to comprehend the magnitude of what had just transpired. At last, Luke broke the silence.

"You did it," he gasped, wincing in pain as he pulled himself to his feet. "You killed him."

Vader turned to Luke, having finally come to his senses. "Yes," he confirmed. "Now follow me." Vader marched past Luke, moving along the catwalk with a renewed sense of purpose. Luke hurried after his father, the rush of excitement serving to dull the pain he had just endured. The catwalk brought them around the turbolift column, to a staircase on the opposite side of the throne room. They descended the staircase together, and found themselves standing before an intimidating set of blast doors. Vader opened the doors easily, revealing another dimly lit chamber. Giant circular windows were mounted on all sides, and a heavy-looking desk built in the same style as the Emperor's throne sat at the far end of the room.

"Where are we?" Luke asked.

"The Emperor's office," Vader answered tersely, stepping across the room at a brisk pace. Luke followed him to the intimidating metal desk, and watched his father activate a control panel on its surface. In response to Vader's touch, a holographic projector displayed a three-dimensional image of the Death Star in the center of the office. Luke noticed that the projection was far more detailed than the one he'd seen during the briefing on the _Home One_, but kept his thoughts to himself. As he studied the image, he immediately sensed tension rolling off of Vader.

"It appears your friends on Endor were successful," Vader growled. "The deflector shield is no longer active." He pressed another series of keys on the control panel, and red warning lights began to flash throughout the office.

"What are you doing?" Luke asked.

"I'm shutting down the main reactor," Vader explained. "I will not make the same mistake as Governor Tarkin. Your friends can fire their torpedoes if they wish, but they will not have the chain reaction they desire. I have plans for this battle station, and its destruction is not among them."

"If you turn against the Alliance, after everything we just—" Luke began, anger creeping into his voice.

"The shutdown will trigger a total evacuation of the Death Star," Vader interrupted. "That will give us ample time to declare an end to this war."

Luke relaxed, sensing no deception from his father. "You planning to send a message?" he asked.

"Indeed, I am," Vader growled ominously. "Bring me the Emperor's ministers."


	24. Chapter 24

XIV

The very instant the shield generator complex was destroyed, there was a burst of activity on the bridge of the _Home One_. The instrument panel beside Admiral Acbkar lit up, flashing an urgent shade of red, and he turned his attention to it immediately. The jamming signal that had almost lured the Rebels to their doom was gone. The Death Star was now completely exposed to the scanners of every ship in the Alliance fleet. This surge of data was relayed to the bridge of the _Home One_, where Admiral Ackbar quickly compared it to his own readouts. To his eyes, everything appeared consistent. The Death Star was finally vulnerable. He suppressed a sigh of relief, and used his breath to issue new orders instead.

"The shield is down!" he announced to the fleet. "Commence attack on the Death Star's main reactor!"

"We're on our way!" Lando replied, turning the _Millennium Falcon_ so it faced the enormous battle station. "Red Group! Gold Group! All fighters, follow me!" Despite the seriousness of their mission, there was a giddy tone in his voice. He gave a short burst of laughter, and turned to Nien Nunb. "I told you they'd do it!" he shouted with a boyish grin on his face. Nunb nodded, and chuckled in agreement. They piloted the _Falcon_ toward the Death Star's equatorial trench, in search of the access shaft that would lead them deep into the incomplete superstructure. Lando glanced at his control panel as the Death Star grew larger and larger in front of him. There were five starfigthers following the _Falcon_, led by Wedge Antilles' X-Wing. Lando gulped nervously. He knew that from this point, there were only two outcomes: victory, or death. All he could do was trust the coordinates he'd been given, and hope the Bothans had plotted the right path to the main reactor.

As the Rebels drew closer to the Death Star, Lando noticed something odd. The tiny pinpoints of light scattered across the surface of the battle station were flickering and going out, dozens at a time. Within seconds, the Death Star was illuminated only by the ambient light from Endor's distant sun. Lando's eyes narrowed with suspicion. He'd already been drawn into one trap today, and he was in no mood for another.

"Something's not right," he muttered, leaning over to Nunb. "Keep your eyes open."

A frown appeared on the Sullustan's wrinkled face. His eyes had adapted to the subterranean environment he enjoyed on his homeworld, and were many times the size of a human's. For a moment, he thought Lando had made a wisecrack about him, but he, too, could sense that something was awry on the Death Star. Then, the _Falcon's_ scanners burst to life, displaying hundreds of tiny pinpoints in the space ahead of them. Nunb's jaw dropped. Each marker on his display screen represented an approaching ship, and there were even more coming at them than there had been in the initial attack wave. Lando saw the same thing, and warned his wingmen.

"More fighters coming in!" he shouted. But as they drew close enough to see the ships with their own eyes, they could see there were no attack formations. These were random clusters of TIE fighters, TIE/sh shuttles, and _Lambda_-class shuttles, zooming away from the Death Star as fast as their engines would carry them. None of them fired a shot at the approaching Rebel ships. Instead, they flew past, completely ignoring the _Falcon_ and its escort.

"They're not attacking," Lando murmured, to no one in particular. Then, it hit him. "They're evacuating!"

"Stay on course," Wedge said over the comm. "We've almost reached the surface."

Lando looked beyond the fleeing Imperial ships, and saw that Wedge was right. They were moments away from reaching the outer hull of the Death Star. Wedge's X-Wing accelerated past him, followed closely by Green Four in his A-Wing interceptor. They pulled up in unison, putting the hull directly beneath them, and maneuvered between the countless turbolaser batteries and construction towers jutting out of the unfinished superweapon. Lando's sense of dread grew stronger when he saw that the turrets did not rotate or fire at any of them. It seemed that they had been left completely unmanned, which left him wondering what kind of emergency triggered such a prompt evacuation. Before he could dwell on that thought any further, he saw the reddish-colored scaffolding of the access shaft on the horizon.

"I'm going in," said Wedge as he closed in on the opening. Nien Nunb wished him luck in his native language.

"Here goes nothing," Lando added. He banked the _Falcon_ into a tight turn, and followed Wedge and Green Four into the superstructure.

"Lock on to the strongest power source," he advised. "It _should_ be the power generator."

"Form up," Wedge said calmly. "Stay alert. We could run out of space real fast." He piloted his X-Wing with uncanny skill, keeping the nose of his starfighter aimed at the branches of the tunnel large enough to accomodate both it and the _Falcon_. Lando was relieved to have Wedge leading the way, although he wouldn't occupy the comm to say it. He was disciplined enough to leave the channel open, in case another unit had emergency traffic. Just as that thought crossed his mind, he received a transmission from Admiral Ackbar.

"All fighters, break off the attack and return to your cruisers immediately," Ackbar ordered. "I repeat, all fighters, break off the attack."

Lando slumped in his seat, but kept his hands on the controls. On the inside, he felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. He could feel that they were so close to victory, and now that tiny glimmer of hope was gone. He reached for the comm with one hand, while keeping both eyes on his hazardous surroundings.

"We won't get another chance at this, Admiral," he warned.

"That's an order, General Calrissian," Ackbar said firmly. "Return to the _Home One_, and report to the briefing room at once."

"Roger that," Lando acknowledged, struggling to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He was careful to let go of the comm before saying anything else. "You heard the admiral," he grumbled. "Head back to the surface."

The Rebels emerged from the Death Star just as quickly as they'd gone in. Once they were out in the open again, they were surprised to see that the Alliance fleet had reoriented itself. All of its ships were now arranged in neat, orderly rows, facing the enemy with only a few kilometers of empty space between them. The _Executor_ and the other Star Destroyers under the command of Admiral Piett had not moved. They remained where they had been positioned since the ambush began, cutting off any potential retreat. Lando was even more surprised and confused when he saw that there was no longer any exchange of turbolaser fire, and no attempt by either side to close distance with the other. Nunb mumbled excitedly, but Lando had no clear answer to give him.

"I have a feeling we're about to find out," he replied. He guided the _Falcon_ into the hangar of the _Home One_, and hurried down the boarding ramp with Nunb and the rest of his crew behind him. Wedge and the other Rebel pilots were already crossing the hangar, moving as quickly as they could without breaking into a jog. Lando made eye contact with Wedge, and put his palms out to his sides. _Why did they call us back?_ his body language said. Wedge tilted his head, and shrugged. _Great_, Lando thought. _They'd better have something good up their sleeve_. He followed Wedge down the brightly lit corridor, and emerged into the amphitheatre-shaped briefing room. The lights had already been dimmed, and there was an enormous hologram being displayed by the table-like projector unit. Lando gently pushed past the crowd in front of him to get a closer look, and his breath caught in his throat. There, in the center of the room, was the holographic form of Darth Vader.

"Admiral Piett," Vader boomed. "Is every Star Destroyer receiving a clear transmission?"

"Yes, my Lord," Piett replied.

"Good," Vader said immediately. "I trust there will no disruptions that will cause me to repeat myself." Vader took a deep breath through his mask before continuing. "And who will speak for the Rebel Alliance?"

At this, Mon Mothma stepped forward and glared up at the projection of Vader's mask. "I will," she said with conviction. Once he had confirmed that both sides could hear him, Vader wasted no time.

"Then let us begin," he rumbled. "The Emperor has just been assassinated." He paused, drawing another breath to let the news sink in. "As his apprentice, and the executor of his will, his authority is now vested in me...and as my first act, it is my honor to bring those who conspired against him to justice."

Aboard the _Executor_, Commander Gherant shifted anxiously and turned to his superior. "What is this?" he asked. Admiral Piett kept a stern expression on his face, and answered Gherant without looking at him. "It's a bloody coup," he replied.

Vader's hologram shifted away from the center of the projector, and shrunk in size to accomodate several other figures. Lando counted five elderly men, who had been forced to kneel on the floor beside Vader. He did not recognize their faces, but if their ornate robes were any indication, they were high-ranking government officials. A wave of surprised gasps and whispers swept across the room as a sixth figure stepped into view behind the kneeling prisoners. He did not speak, but his face was unmistakable. It was Luke. Before Lando could begin to worry if Luke was among the captives, or merely guarding them, Vader spoke again.

"These cowards used an improvised explosive device to kill the Emperor, and his bodyguards," he said, pointing his finger at the kneeling ministers. "They attempted to flee the Death Star, but they were captured...by my son." Now, Vader's finger pointed at Luke. He paused again, expecting that this revelation would take a moment to be absorbed by both sides. Luke said nothing. He continued to stare at the floor, a somber expression etched on his face. At least part of what Vader said was true. When he'd taken the turbolift down to the base of the tower, the Emperor's advisers had been waiting fearfully just outside its doors, expecting to get to a shuttle and disappear into hyperspace. Although he had serious reservations about Vader's plan to cover up the truth, a part of him knew the lie would allow the galaxy to heal. He told himself that it would ensure a peaceful transition, just as Vader promised.

"Luke Skywalker has been an enemy of the Empire and a fugitive all his life," Vader went on. "But he came to me, seeking to reconcile our differences, and bring an end to this conflict. His timing was perfect. He brought these criminals to me," Vader paused for effect before continuing, "and in exchange for their confessions, I have agreed to show them mercy. I will keep them imprisoned here, confined to this room they secretly coveted, for the rest of their lives."

Vader walked behind each of the kneeling ministers, and as he passed them, they looked into the holoprojector and spoke with passion.

"I killed the Emperor!" cried Sim Aloo.

Kren Blista-Vanee was next. "I killed the Emperor!" he shouted. He was echoed by Ars Dangor, then Janus Greejatus. Finally, Vader's bootsteps landed behind the Grand Vizier, Sate Pestage. Pestage blinked tears out of his eyes as he did Vader's bidding. "I killed the Emperor!" he shouted, his voice quaking. Luke closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nostrils. He reminded himself that everything Vader did brought them one step closer to peace. Meanwhile, Vader stepped around Sate Pestage, and allowed the holoprojector to focus solely on him again. He was not finished addressing his stunned audience.

"Now," he announced, "I will give you cause to rejoice. In the name of the Emperor, I am declaring a ceasefire. All branches of the Imperial military shall stand down immediately. In return, the leaders of the Rebel Alliance shall issue identical orders to all forces under their command. Does the Alliance agree to these terms?"

Mon Mothma's lip trembled. So much was uncertain, and she could not decide whether she wanted to laugh or cry. She had never, and would never, vote for the continued existence of the Galactic Empire, but with Palpatine finally dead, she knew there would never be a better opportunity to make peace. After a moment's pause, she voiced her greatest concern.

"Why should we trust you?" she asked firmly. Vader's response was immediate.

"Admiral Piett," he began, "You have held your positions since the Rebels emerged from hyperspace. Explain why."

"We had orders from the Emperor himself, that we were not to engage," Piett replied.

"And would I allow any insubordination to go unpunished?" Vader asked rhetorically.

"Absolutely not," Piett answered.

"If I told you this Death Star was operational, and that I would use it to destroy any vessel that defies me _on either side_, would you require a demonstration? Or would my word alone suffice?"

"The fleet is at your command, Lord Vader," Piett said hurriedly. "As it has always been." He managed to keep the surprise out of his voice, and dismissed the mental image of the Death Star firing on the _Executor_.

"Well?" Vader asked, this time directing his voice back to Mon Mothma.

"We accept," she said at last, prompting applause and cheers from the Rebels assembled in the briefing room. Vader paid no attention to the celebratory noise.

"Admiral, make contact with every fleet, and every system. You are to relay this message in its entirety. Any offensive engagement with the Rebel Alliance is to be suspended immediately. Defensive maneuvers are authorized, but there shall be no pursuit of Rebel ships fleeing to hyperspace. Star Destroyers and support vessels are to be deployed to prevent piracy and smuggling _only_. All ground troops shall return to their barracks, and remain within their defensive perimeter. I will hold a conference on Endor, to select a new delegation of ministers. Those who are chosen are to be treated, and obeyed, as extensions of myself. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, my Lord," Piett answered.

"Then see to it," Vader snapped. "And I expect you to be on Endor when it is done."

Without waiting to be placated further, Vader terminated the holographic feed to the Imperial fleet. He left the projector open for the Alliance, and stepped aside to make way for Luke.

"Greetings, my friends," Luke said softly. His voice was that of an emotionally exhausted man, but somehow it still inspired confidence. "I know many of you have your doubts as to what's going to happen next," he said, "and you're not alone. I risked everything for this moment, to be standing here talking about an end to this war. We've all risked our lives, in one way or another, since we came together in this fight. And just like them," he nodded his head toward the Imperial fleet, "we've all lost people we cared about." He glanced over at Vader, who was standing like a statue just out of range of the projector. "I'm asking you to trust me," Luke pleaded. "Just like I trusted my father to do the right thing. He has kept his word, and proven that no matter how far we fall, there is always a chance of better days ahead. Have faith that whatever we do next is being done in the name of peace. I'll see you on Endor." Before deactivating the projector completely, it occurred to him that there was one more thing he should add. "May the Force be with you," he said solemnly.

Luke shut the projector off, and stood still, taking a deep breath to calm himself before he turned to face his father. When he did, he could sense conflict boiling within Vader's mind. There was much that remained unsaid between them, and they both wanted to let it out, but the time was not yet right. Vader stepped forward, and looked down at Palpatine's ministers, who still knelt quietly on the floor. He leaned in close to Sate Pestage, by far the most devoted to his former master. Pestage sniffed abruptly, and a solitary tear ran down his cheek.

"I can only imagine how difficult this was for you," Vader sneered. "I expected at least one of you to argue, or plead for help."

The powerless captives said nothing in response. A few more sniffing noises could be heard as they struggled to hold back their tears. Some of them glanced at Vader out of the corners of their eyes, but their gazes did not linger there. After just a fraction of a second, they continued looking straight ahead, at the throne sitting behind the lenses of the holoprojector. It was a perfect, unblemished copy of Palpatine's other throne, so new that no living being had ever sat upon it—but the seat was not empty. Vader had placed Palpatine's body there while Luke was at the base of the tower, taking the ministers into custody. The body sat upright, eyes fixed and glazed, with a hideous gash in the bridge of its nose where the Royal Guard's force pike had made its gory exit. The bloodstained pike itself was draped across the armrests of the throne, and Vader had placed the corpse's hands over it to keep it from rolling off. There Palpatine sat, literally dead weight, a small puddle of blood forming at his cold, stiff feet. Vader straightened his back, and addressed the prisoners all at once.

"As I said before, you would share your master's fate if you had tried." Vader walked past the captives again, this time moving in front of them. He strode confidently to the doors, and Luke followed close behind. He could sense their fear and despair, but as he remembered the agony Palpatine had inflicted upon him, he felt no pity for them at all. He followed Vader out of the Emperor's office, and they stopped together just outside the blast doors. Vader waited there until the doors were sealed, then raised his hand. From the other side of the doors, there was a muffled sound of glass cracking and breaking, followed by a _whoosh_ of escaping air. Then, Palpatine's office fell silent again. Luke stared up into the eyes of his father's mask, unable to conceal his horror.

"They were confined there for the rest of their lives," Vader snarled. "They will lose consciousness within fifteen seconds of being depressurized. That is all the mercy they deserve."

Luke was speechless, but after everything he'd been through, he felt better without saying anything. Vader marched to the turbolift, and Luke quietly followed.

Moff Jerjerrod felt relief wash over him when the emergency power kicked in. He was standing in the hangar, with a TIE/sh VIP shuttle prepped for takeoff, when the overhead lights had gone out. His heart raced as he turned to look at the magnetic seal that kept the hangar and everything in it from being exposed to the vacuum of space. In that brief moment, he wondered if the backup generators would perform as intended, or if the reactor shutdown would condemn him to an icy death. Then, the overhead lights came back on, and his panic subsided as quickly as it came. The magnetic seal was just as active as it ever was; it hadn't lapsed at all. Jerjerrod breathed heavily and surveyed the pair of TIE fighter pilots who stood by his side. They shifted nervously in their black flight suits, but said nothing. Jerjerrod smiled.

"We have our VIP shuttle," he quipped, "but we're missing the VIP!"

For the next several minutes, he anxiously scanned the doorway at the far end of the hangar, ignoring the ringing in his ears from the evacuation sirens that had recently fallen silent. He could not recall how many of the backup generators had been completed, but he knew there weren't enough to sustain basic life support functions for much longer. Without a functioning reactor at the core of the Death Star, it would soon be as lifeless as an asteroid. Jerjerrod felt anger welling up inside himself, and his thinning patience only made matters worse. He had sacrificed so much of his time and energy, passed up the wealth he could have earned in the private sector, and allowed Darth Vader to chip away at his sanity for this battle station. It had become his pet project, his baby, and now it was being abandoned. Jerjerrod tried to calm down by reminding himself that only the Emperor could shut down the reactor, and he must have had a good reason for doing so. As he pondered what that reason could be, he picked up movement at the far end of the hangar.

Jerjerrod squinted his eyes, and saw a figure in black striding toward him and the shuttle. At first, he thought of the Emperor's black cloak, but then the figure passed by a row of storage crates that had been stacked on the deck, giving him a sense of scale. With a clearer idea of the figure's height, coupled with its brisk pace, Jerjerrod quickly recognized that it was Darth Vader. There was someone else following closely behind, but whoever it was had their head down, and was obscured by Vader's billowing cape. Jerjerrod ignored the second figure as Vader drew near.

"My Lord, I've held the last shuttle in this sector," Jerjerrod announced, carefully displaying the blaster pistol he'd used to fend off some of the more panicked evacuees. "It only has room for one more passenger."

In his mind, Jerjerrod had reserved the last seat in the tiny shuttle for the Emperor, but he was nowhere to be seen. Jerjerrod leaned to one side, and peeked around Vader to get a better look at the slouched figure behind him. As soon as they made eye contact with one another, Jerjerrod recognized the Rebel leader, Luke Skywalker. "Lord Vader! I—"

"That name no longer has any meaning for me," Vader growled, pointing his finger for emphasis. Jerjerrod's eyes widened, and he stepped back, completely stunned. He would never have imagined that Darth Vader would be in league with the Rebel who destroyed the first Death Star. He gritted his teeth and raised his blaster pistol, aiming the muzzle at the center of Luke's chest. As he curled his index finger inside the trigger guard, Vader's cape unfurled, and there was a flash of red light. Jerjerrod's head was cleaved in two, and his body collapsed to the hangar floor. He was dead before he even knew it was a lightsaber that had struck him. The TIE fighter pilots who had been waiting in the background glanced at each other apprehensively. Vader shut off his lightsaber and returned it to his belt.

"Now you have room for two," he said, boarding the shuttle with Luke close behind.


	25. Chapter 25

XV

Leia sat cross-legged on the ground, atop the berm which had sheltered her from the explosion. She stared out at the glowing ruins of the shield generator complex, ignoring everything else. Her stomach had been empty for hours, but she felt no hunger. She could hear the Sanyassan marauders thrusting their spears into every stormtrooper they found, but she did not care to look. As the hours slipped by, and the sky grew dark, Leia's body began to ache. She realized she'd been sitting for so long without moving that her feet were numb, but she didn't care. She grasped at the faint notion that any moment now, a lone survivor would stumble out of the smoldering crater in front of her, grinning like the scoundrel she had grown to love. He would embrace her, and she would see that she had been mistaken; that her eyes had deceived her earlier, and his wounds were only superficial. The idea popped up again and again, teasing her, forcing her to push it away each time it reared its ugly head. She knew the truth. She knew Han was gone, and that the shield generator was so thoroughly demolished that there was nothing left of him to recover. But just like her brother, she could be stubborn and defiant long after the truth was laid bare. So, she kept watch, scanning the jagged piles of metal and rubble, silhouetted from behind by the glow of a fire that would burn for days to come. A huge pillar of smoke towered above it all, rising high into the sky and blotting out the stars. Leia traced its path with her eyes, and wondered if the fleet was still fighting beyond the smoke, where she could not see. There was no way to know for sure, but she had the faint sensation that Luke, at least, was still alive.

A low, mournful groan reached Leia's ears, and for the first time in hours, she turned her face away from the smoke and fire. Chewbacca stood behind her, his head lowered, looking at her out of the corners of his eyes. It was the first time she had seen the proud Wookiee regard anyone with deference. Even though the Empire's ground forces had been utterly destroyed, he carried himself as if the war had been lost, and it was all his fault. She saw his hunched posture, his furry shoulders rolled forward, and his bandolier hanging away from his chest. He carried R2-D2's damaged chassis over one shoulder, walking with it as though it weighed nothing. A single light blinked on the astromech droid's domed head as he emitted a low whistle of his own. Leia dug her fingernails into the ground on either side of her, clawing grooves into the soil. _I won't go_, she thought to herself. She wanted to root herself to the ground, like the redwoods that surrounded her, and stay there forever. A part of her knew it didn't make sense, but there was simply nothing else she wanted. There was nowhere she would rather go, no one she would rather be with. The one she'd expected to spend the rest of her life with was gone, and if she couldn't bring him back, she wanted nothing more than to sit there until she joined him.

In the midst of Leia's despair, she felt a flicker of light in the recesses of her mind. It gave her an altogether unexpected feeling of peace, and it carried a unique strength that she recognized immediately. She leaned to one side, looking past Chewbacca and into the woods beyond. Sure enough, Luke was there. His black clothing concealed him perfectly in the forest, now that night had fallen. He stepped into the firelight, allowing her to see him clearly for the first time since he had surrendered himself to Vader aboard the _Executor_. He looked haggard, as if his fight above Endor had aged him by several years. As the light passed over him, she saw that the shoulder of his tunic was stained with blood. Chewbacca barked a sad greeting as Luke climbed up to the top of the berm. He acknowledged the Wookiee with a solemn nod, and knelt by Leia's side.

"There's nothing I can say," he said, assuming the truth would have more healing power than insincere pleasantries. "I can't believe we lost him."

Leia nodded, and gulped to suppress the lump in her throat. She relaxed her clenched fingers, allowing the color to return to her knuckles, and blinked rapidly as fresh tears streamed down her face.

"Is it over?" she asked, desperate to hear something about the day's events that wouldn't haunt her forever. Luke nodded.

"It was Vader," he explained. "He killed the Emperor, and...others. He called for a ceasefire, and a meeting here, with all of us."

Leia's eyes went to the lightsaber on Luke's belt, to her own blaster, and to Chewbacca's bowcaster, all within a fraction of a second. "Vader's here?" she asked, her voice dripping with hatred. "On this moon?"

"Leia," Luke warned, sensing her murderous intent, "we can't change any of this. If it falls apart now..." His voice trailed off, but somehow Leia knew what he was going to say next.

"...then Han died for nothing," she said flatly. She ignored Luke's astonished expression, and tucked her feelings of rage away, so he would not detect them. She could sense his thoughts, his worry for her, almost without effort, while he had just begun to perceive her ability to do so. She sniffed loudly to clear her nose, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. By the time her hand fell back to her side, her inner turmoil had been replaced by a semblance of calm. She allowed Luke to help her to her feet, put his arm around her, and escort her toward the shuttle landing platform. She could feel him probing her mind, and offered him nothing. She knew he only wanted to help her, and understand how she had grown since they last spoke, but she felt she had revealed enough. Luke, meanwhile, felt his sister's mind transform from a churning, storm-tossed sea to a frigid lake, covered with a thick, impenetrable layer of ice. He retreated from the cold image the Force relayed to him, and reminded himself to work with Leia and her natural power as soon as their business with Vader was finished.

The landing platform at the edge of the shield generator complex was one of only a few man-made structures still standing on the forest moon, and it had long since run out of space to accommodate arriving ships. _Lambda_-class shuttles covered the platform from end to end, the tips of their wings almost touching. On the ground below, Rebel pilots had to improvise, landing their starfighters alongside their former opponents, taking advantage of any opening they could find. The rough terrain caused some of the ships to list awkwardly, but none of them were unfortunate enough to tip over. A mobile command center, brightly illuminated by spotlights, had been hastily erected next to the landing platform. A small crowd had already gathered around it, and it grew larger by the minute. Although there was no open hostility, the Rebels and Imperials immediately segregated themselves, clearly reluctant to trust one another. This left a sea of alternating black and gray uniforms between the command module and the landing platform, and a less organized cluster of blaze orange jumpsuits and camouflage ponchos on the other side. There were so many conversations taking place at once that the casual observer would have heard only a dull roar, but the tone was unmistakeable. Everyone, Rebel or Imperial, was wondering what was happening inside the command center.

The module itself, having been provided by the Empire, was plain and unadorned. It was built to be light and easy to move, and since it was never meant to be deployed on the front lines, its walls could only withstand small arms fire. To Luke's eyes, it resembled an armored, gray circus tent. It had no windows, and only two standard-sized doors, one on each side. He walked to the closest door, carefully supporting his sister with his arm, and the stormtroopers gathered around the entrance quickly stepped out of his path. Once inside, Luke could see the wide-open interior of the module, with an elevated dais at its center. A round conference table had been moved onto the dais, with a small holoprojector dome in the middle, and twelve chairs around its edge. The chair on the far side of the table, furthest from Luke, had a higher back than the rest, suggesting that it belonged to the leader of the meeting. There was no question in Luke's mind as to who that would be. Vader stood by it, closely watching everyone who entered. Beside Vader stood three Imperial naval officers that Luke did not recognize. One wore the rank insignia of an admiral—Luke guessed that was Admiral Piett. The second man wore a captain's uniform, and the third wore the white tunic and gold epaulettes of a grand admiral. Luke counted only five others in the room, all of them Rebel leaders. Mon Mothma, Admiral Ackbar, and General Madine stood to one side of Vader and his men, while Wedge Antilles and Bren Derlin stood on the other. Antilles and Derlin had their blasters holstered, but Luke could sense that they were agitated. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through their veins, and he saw how their eyes constantly flickered back and forth between their own leadership and Vader's expressionless mask. The tension dissipated only when Vader's rumbling voice broke the silence.

"Those two are to be seated here as well," he ordered, pointing to Luke and Leia. Luke reached out with the Force to keep Leia calm, knowing that she did not yet understand Vader as he did, but he was unable to connect with her. Her mind was still closed off to him, and he quickly retreated. They stepped onto the dais together, and Luke moved to pull Leia's chair out for her. Without a word, she broke away from his supporting grip and did it herself. Her eyes never left Vader. If it could have, her furious gaze would have burned a hole right through him. The mechanical rhythm of his breathing did not change. He must have sensed his daughter's ill will toward him, but he showed no reaction. His officers shuffled nervously around him, unwilling to do anything without Vader's explicit command. Next, Vader extended his right hand to Luke.

"With me, my son," he requested. Luke frowned, having hoped to stay by Leia's side throughout the meeting. Reluctantly, he obeyed his father's wish, and stepped around the table. Vader gestured for Luke to stand at his right side, and Luke was humbled by how quickly the Imperial officers stepped out of his path. Whatever Vader's plans for the galaxy, Luke could tell those men would carry out his orders as if he were the Emperor himself. Before Luke took hold of his chair, he looked around at the others. There were twelve chairs, including his own, but only eleven present. He wondered who the twelfth might be, and was answered before he could open his mouth to ask. There was a muffled noise from just outside the structure that caused his heart to sink in his chest. It was the enraged roar of a Wookiee. Luke's eyes widened with concern, and he glanced over at Vader, who remained perfectly still and said nothing. The roaring subsided after only a few seconds, and to Luke's surprise, it was not accompanied by blaster fire. Something, or someone, must have calmed Chewbacca down. Once the room had fallen silent again, the twelfth and final attendee walked in, his light blue cape billowing behind him. The twelfth was Lando Calrissian.

Lando's eyes locked onto Vader, and gave him the same burning stare that was still etched on Leia's face. He walked at a brisk pace, making a beeline for Leia's side. Only when he reached her did he look down, away from Vader. He opened his mouth to offer her words of comfort, but her expression and body language was enough to dissuade him. He quickly thought better of it, straightening his uniform and turning to face Vader as the others in the room had done.

"Be seated," Vader ordered. Everyone was quick to follow the command. When Vader followed suit, his movements were slow, as he silently endured the pain from his damaged hips and torso. Once he sat, he placed his hands on the armrests of his chair, and became still as a sculpture once again.

"The record of this meeting," Vader began, pointing to the holoprojector at the center of the table, "is to be transmitted across the galaxy when I am finished."

He paused, giving enough time for the men and women around him to nod or quietly mumble their agreement. Only Luke, Leia, and Lando remained silent.

"Remember that as of this moment, I alone carry the authority of the Emperor. My word is law, and there will be no recourse for any who defy me."

Here, he paused again. To the eleven who heard him speak, it felt as if the temperature of the room dropped by several degrees.

"As my first act, I am announcing the formation of a new government," Vader continued. "By my command, the Galactic Empire and the Rebel Alliance no longer exist." There was a noticeable gasp from one of Vader's men, but he went on without making any effort to acknowledge it. "Instead, the galaxy will be united under a new Republic. The Senate is to be reformed, with executive power divided equally between two heads of state. In the interim, I will divide my authority between two in this room, who are to maintain order until new elections can be held."

As Luke absorbed his father's words, it dawned on him that there was much he had left unsaid. "Father..." he began.

"Mon Mothma," Vader called, ignoring Luke. "Will you accept this power, and ensure the discipline of your followers while these reforms are enacted?"

Luke's eyes shifted to Mon Mothma. He sensed her struggle to hold back tears, and her trepidation at being offered what was tantamount to absolute power. It was more than she could have ever hoped for at the outset of the war, and she could think of no other who could more effectively resist the temptation to abuse it.

"Yes," she answered, her voice full of conviction. "I will."

Luke felt Vader's attention turn to him, and could sense what would happen next.

"Luke," Vader rumbled, "Will you take control of the existing Imperial command structure, and bring justice to any who refuse to accept this transition?"

By this time, Luke had more questions than answers, but he knew there was only one answer he could give if their victory was to have any meaning at all. His refusal would plunge the galaxy back into chaos, and end any hope of peace in his lifetime.

"I will, father," he promised.

"Good," Vader said curtly. "Then it is done. I have only one more thing to say before this message is complete." He stood from his chair, pushing it quietly back toward the edge of the dais. "Let it be known that unforgivable crimes have been committed during this war."

"The first Death Star," grumbled the grand admiral to Vader's left.

"Alderaan," Leia snarled through gritted teeth.

"Silence!" Mon Mothma snapped. She was staring at Leia, but both parties held their tongues when she spoke.

"Some are well-known," Vader continued, "while others are a closely guarded secret. These atrocities will serve as a convenient excuse for renewed hostilities...unless they are punished. Therefore, I am taking responsibility for all of them. Whatever you may hear, whatever outrage it may cause, you must blame me, and me alone. The blood of every casualty suffered during this war is on my hands...and I will pay for that blood tonight. _I_ will be the last casualty of this war."

More involuntary gasps erupted from around the table. Vader ignored them, gesturing toward the holoprojector and deactivating it with the Force. Luke rose to his feet, and stepped in front of Vader, looking up into the black lenses that shielded his eyes from view.

"Father," Luke pleaded, "You had plans, for us, for the fleet—the Death Star! You can't do this!"

"It is too late for me, son," Vader replied. "The Death Star belongs to you now. Take it to every system that holds one of the Emperor's concentration camps, and order the immediate liberation of the prisoners. Remind every commander that if he attempts to follow the protocol of our departed Emperor, and liquidate the prisoners rather than surrender them to you, you will not hesitate to demonstrate its power."

"No!" Luke begged, his sentences running together as his body language became more animated. "I watched you destroy the Emperor. I watched you bring an end to this war. There's no need to do this! You've redeemed yourself. You've come back!"

Vader was unmoved. "I have left a scar on the galaxy that will never fully heal," he growled. "There is no redemption for me."

"You lied," Luke argued. "You told me you wanted us to lead the galaxy together."

There was a momentary pause, allowing Vader to take another breath before he gave his answer. "That...was never my destiny," he said at last.

After taking a deep breath of his own, Luke realized there was nothing he could say to dissuade his father. "You can't die," he protested weakly. Vader stepped forward, breathing deeply as he towered over his son.

"I died the day the Emperor put this mask on me," he rumbled. "If I linger, a part of his legacy will endure. There is no honor in that. If Obi-Wan were here today, he would help you to understand. As long as I wear this mask, I disgrace him, and myself."

"You really think he'd let you do this?" Luke asked in bewilderment.

"As my true master, he would have no other choice. That is why I want you to lend me his lightsaber."

Luke was stunned. He felt his hand go to his belt, and retrieve Obi-Wan's dormant blade. For the first time, it felt uncomfortably heavy. Ignoring the icy sensation of Leia's eyes on the back of his neck, he held it out, and let Vader take it from him. As soon as it left his grasp, he felt something through the Force that caused his breath to catch in his throat. He felt Vader's pain, a raw, constant pain that had smoldered for decades. At the same time, he felt Vader's regret, a longing for the chance to go back and raise his children from infancy, to teach them, send them out into the galaxy, and grow old with the smile of his wife to encourage him. He also felt his father's unspoken gratitude. Darth Vader, who had given himself to the dark side and served as the Emperor's apprentice as long as he'd been alive, was grateful to him for helping to bring his plot to fruition, and for allowing him to honor Obi-Wan with one last sacrifice. Vader gripped Obi-Wan's lightsaber tightly, recognizing the images and feelings that had just passed between Luke and himself.

"The holocron is waiting for you aboard my Star Destroyer," Vader said. "It is a record of everything I was taught...and everything I wanted to teach you."

"I'll remember it," Luke promised. Vader gestured to the doors of the command module, and his stormtroopers entered, marching in unison with their blaster rifles slung.

"Have your men remove this structure," Vader ordered. "I want everyone gathered here to see the truth with their own eyes."

The stormtroopers marched out as quickly as they had come in, and Luke could hear their muffled voices shouting orders. Within moments, the walls of the command module were torn away. More men clambered up into the scaffolding, pulling away the ceiling panels before disassembling the metal supports and carrying them off. Vader, meanwhile, held up his hand to the new leaders of the interim government he'd established, waving them away. All of them stepped off the dais except for Luke, who planted his feet, determined to remain by his father's side until the end. Vader's men removed the table and chairs from the dais, giving everyone in the crowd a near-perfect view.

"I would be honored if you would act as my second," Vader said to Luke, holding out his own red-bladed lightsaber in exchange for the one he'd just taken. Before Luke could respond, a voice piped up from behind him.

"I'll do it," Leia said firmly, ignoring the way Vader and Luke stared at her. She calmly held out her hand, and added, "if it comes to that."

"I would not expect it," Vader replied. Even so, he allowed Leia to take his lightsaber from him. He stepped past his children, his boots thumping heavily as he moved to the center of the dais. He stopped, reached up to the chain that fastened his cape around his neck, and removed it. He slowly knelt down, and laid the cape flat on the dais in front of him. He placed both of his knees on the edge of the cape, and held Obi-Wan's lightsaber in front of him with both hands. For a moment, he seemed to stare off into the distance, and his breathing quickened. Luke's brow furrowed as he struggled to perceive what Vader was seeing. To his eyes, there was nothing beyond the faces of the crowd.

"My master beckons," Vader announced. He raised Obi-Wan's deactivated lightsaber in front of himself, with the blade emitter facing the center of his chest. "I proudly walk to his side," he continued, moving his thumb over the ignition switch, "and call him brother."

Vader's haiku was immediately followed by a sharp hissing noise, and a flash of brilliant blue light as Obi-Wan's blade erupted from the center of his back. His breathing changed, taking on the sound of the last bit of liquid being sucked through a straw. He gave out one final gasp, then fell silent. The only noise that could be heard was the humming of the lightsaber. Leia clutched Vader's weapon tightly, seeing that his body was still mostly upright, and wondered for a moment if she would have to use it. The question disappeared from her mind when Vader's grip slackened. His gloved thumb slipped away from the ignition switch, and Obi-Wan's blue blade disappeared. Vader's lifeless body slumped forward, falling onto his cape with a muffled thump. It was finished.

Without conscious thought, Luke stepped forward to tend to his father's body. He bent down, and gently rolled the armored corpse onto its back. It remained on the cape, allowing him to wrap the body and give it a more dignified appearance. Luke studied his surroundings to decide how best to lift the body, and found Leia at his side. Dozens of others stepped onto the dais with them, Rebels and Imperials alike. They brought dry wood from the surrounding forest, and piled it next to the body. Once they had a sufficient amount for a funeral pyre, all who could find purchase gripped Vader's body and lifted. Even Leia joined in, bearing the burden without the slightest hint of a struggle. They laid the body on top of the wood pile, leaving the cape wrapped loosely around it. Wedge stepped up next to Luke, and passed a lit torch to him. Luke accepted it, and thrust it into the base of the wood pile. The flames spread quickly, engulfing Vader's body within seconds. Those who stood around the fire took a step back in response to the sudden wave of heat. Not a word was spoken. The Rebels had survived too much to engage in casual conversation. Instead, they stared into the roaring fire, reflecting on their hard-earned victory, and what it had cost.

Leia knew she should be thinking of her father. A part of her wanted to understand what made him into the embodiment of evil she'd hated for so long. Another part of her wanted to know what he and Luke had been through, and how Luke's understanding of his character had changed. But as she watched the flames lap at Vader's lifeless black armor, her thoughts turned to the future that could have been—a future with Han that was forever lost to her now. She expected more tears, more pain, as she thought of her love being torn away forever. Instead, she felt only one thing: quiet, seething rage. It was the same feeling that had consumed her when she took revenge on the hapless Imperial officer who'd shot Han in front of her. She knew that the feeling wasn't healthy, and she recognized that it was growing stronger, but she didn't care. For some reason, it brought her comfort to let it grow. So, she embraced it, clutching her father's lightsaber tightly in her hands as it washed over her like a cleansing shower. She felt more powerful, more aware, than she'd ever been in her life. It numbed her pain, and she had no desire to resist it. It was a feeling she could get used to.

Chewbacca stood behind Leia, his shaggy paws dangling at his sides. He'd long since passed R2-D2 off to an Alliance technician, being in no mood to repair the droid himself. He breathed deeply, silently mourning the loss of his closest friend. As he filled his lungs with air, he caught the scent of agitation and stress rolling off of Leia. The scent told him more than any words could possibly express, and he knew she would never be the same again. Chewbacca remembered the promise he'd made to Han over a year ago, that he would protect Leia at all costs. He considered that promise to still be in effect. He would continue to watch over her, and lay down his life for her if necessary. He knew it was what Han would have wanted.

Lando also thought of Han while watching Vader's funeral pyre. Han had been a good friend, even after winning the _Falcon_ from him. He'd been a man of few words, and he'd never been one to wear his emotions on his sleeve. Even so, Lando was skilled at reading people, and from their last conversation, he knew Han intended to reconcile. They would have talked things out, eventually, in their own way. Everything could have been patched up...but it was too late now. Lando sighed, knowing that it was his burden to bear. He remembered reading about survivor's guilt after the Battle of Tanaab, but he'd never felt it himself. Not until today, anyway. _It should have been me_, Lando thought. _Han was a good man, with a good woman who loved him_. His eyes went over to Leia. He knew there were no romantic feelings between them, but he could tell from the look on her face that she would need the support of a friend. _It should have been me_, he thought again.

Like his sister, Luke felt empty and numb as he watched the flames break down Vader's corpse. He was confident in his ability to resist the dark side of the Force, but in that moment, he also could not feel the light. He felt detached, and wondered if he could ever live up to the commitment he made to Yoda, to rebuild the galaxy and raise up a new generation of Jedi Knights. He looked up at the sky, where the crescent-like edge of the Death Star was just visible beyond the wall of smoke. He imagined himself commanding it, and wondered what use he could possibly have for a superlaser that could destroy an entire planet. Vader was right to assume that it would coax the surrender of even the most fanatical Imperial officers, should they cling to their loyalty to Palpatine's regime. Once that was done, however, he would have no use for it. _A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense, never for attack_, he recalled. Then, he had an epiphany. Once his mission was complete, and the galaxy united by a new Republic, he would have the Death Star completely rebuilt, from the inside out. The superlaser would be decommissioned, and the entire battle station would be christened as the new Jedi Temple. Never again would the Jedi be in danger of extermination, not when they had a sanctuary the size of a small moon that could travel through hyperspace to any point in the galaxy. A smile tugged at one corner of Luke's mouth as he imagined the limitless potential that lay before him. His eyes came back down, to the fire, and the people gathered around it. He spotted Leia's face right away, and his smile disappeared. He still could not discern her thoughts, but when he looked into her eyes, he saw a flicker of yellow that reminded him of the Emperor. He blinked and looked again, but it was gone. He told himself it must have been a trick of the light, a reflection from the fire, perhaps. Still, he couldn't help but fear for her future. It was then that he heard Obi-Wan's voice in the back of his mind, repeating the warning he'd issued on Dagobah. _Watch over your sister_, the voice warned. _You must not allow her to suffer your father's fate_. Luke felt Obi-Wan's spiritual presence nearby, along with Yoda's, and his father's. He turned away from the fire, searching the open space where the Force drew his eye, but he saw nothing there at all.

VADER'S VALKYRIE


End file.
